Chapter 105 Interlude꞉ The Birth Rite of the Evil Dragon’s Bloodline – Void Dragon Shiratsuki
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
A week had passed since the Evil Dragon Bloodline’s prosperity and breeding, and the growth of the newborns was astonishing. Already they could crawl like human infants of seven months, scurrying across the Underground Temple at startling speed whenever one dared look away—a vivid reminder of when I’d raised Sakuya, our firstborn. Their curiosity overflowed, a blur of silver scales and laughter.
Of course, their mother stayed close by, watching them explore, so Yaten and Sakuya—and even little Uigetsu—were absent from the living room today.
”Shiratsuki, aren’t you going on an adventure like your sisters?” I asked.
”Yah! Toto, toto!” came the chirpy reply.
With her hair like spun silver and eyes the color of deep sky, Shiratsuki looked like a tiny angel who had decided my arms were the entire world. Clutching me with her soft little hands, she repeated her favorite word—’toto,’ father—and refused to move even an inch away. Of my four daughters, she was the most hopeless papa’s girl. For nearly the entire week, she hadn’t left my side unless I set her down myself. Every time I picked her up, her small body relaxed against me; every time I stroked her head, her face lit up with bliss. It was impossible not to spoil her.
At a week old, it was natural for her to cling to her parents, and each of her sisters had shown their own form of papa’s-girl behavior. I wasn’t particularly worried. What made Shiratsuki special was the faint aura of sanctity that surrounded her. Even in this miasma-choked Underground Temple, the air around her remained clear, like a spring breeze. Her pure dragon blood had awakened early—a soul of untainted light, though that same purity failed utterly when it came to matters involving her father.
”Shall I read you a picture scroll today?” I asked.
”Auu!” she answered, bouncing slightly.
Her language skills were still forming, but her mind already seemed a touch sharper than her tiny form suggested. Smiling, I fetched one of the Shiryuin clan’s enchanted picture scrolls—a relic from the age of the exorcists. Within its inked folds, painted figures moved like an ancient animation, depicting priests banishing Youma. The black-and-white style softened the violence, turning it into an educational wonder that stirred curiosity rather than fear.
I remembered watching this same spectacle as a child—the grand war between the exorcists and the demons—and now, years later, it was my turn to share it with my own daughter. The thought made my chest tighten with quiet awe.
”Listen well,” I began. “This happened a thousand years ago, in what humans called the Heian era—”
The moment I unfurled the scroll, the ink shimmered, revealing a battlefield vast enough to swallow the room. What ordinary stories would treat as a climax appeared here as merely the prologue. From my arms, Shiratsuki watched in wide-eyed fascination, silver hair glowing faintly in the flickering light. I ran my fingers through those soft strands and continued the tale.
This great war, after all, marked the birth of the Shiryuin clan itself—the exorcists’ desperate struggle against the Evil Dragon that sought to conquer even the distant land of Japan. It was also, paradoxically, the origin of our own bloodline—the same blood that flowed in Shiratsuki’s veins. Despite her age, she seemed to understand, her azure eyes shining with wonder as she looked up at me.
”Baa…ba?” she murmured.
”That’s right,” I chuckled. “Your grandmother—or rather, your ancestor. But if I call her that, Yaten will scold me. Let’s just say it’s the story of the first Evil Dragon who tried to destroy the world.”
It was a strange thing, to realize our progenitor had been sealed away for the crimes of her rampage. Yet Shiratsuki, utterly unbothered, only watched the moving images in fascination. For me, it had been years since I’d told this story to Sakuya, and once again I found myself uneasy describing Yaten’s ferocity as the world-ending dragon. I softened the words where I could, guiding Shiratsuki’s gaze past the darker moments.
”Ah? Au?” she pointed, eyes puzzled.
”Ah—well, that… hmm. It’s been a while, even I don’t remember what that is,” I said, fumbling for an excuse.
Her tiny finger aimed at a scene where human bodies formed the very walls of a fortress. Thanks to the inked style, it wasn’t grotesque, merely eerie. Not understanding, she accepted my quick diversion. To her, the wall of faces must have looked like a strange demon design—and so, satisfied, she leaned closer, smiling softly.
The scroll’s final images shifted, showing treachery and deceit—hostages, ambushes, betrayal. The Evil Dragon’s cruelty had no bounds, but the inked style softened what words could never. I chose carefully which truths to share, focusing instead on how the exorcists united, wielding divine blessings and courage to seal away the darkness threatening the world.
It was a classic tale—sacrifice, resolve, victory. Our ancestors’ triumph over the world-destroying dragon Yaten had given rise to the Shiryuin Clan, though bound by its own pride and curses. Yet I couldn’t look upon it as purely glorious. Only Shiratsuki, clapping her tiny hands in delight, could see it that way.
The story ended as the brushstroke of a clan crest formed across the parchment, closing with self-congratulatory grandeur. Looking at it anew, I realized it was as much propaganda as legend. True though its bones might be, it was colored with exaggeration. Someday, I’d have to show the children the real history—the one Yaten and I had buried when we dismantled that old house of sin. They had to know where they came from.
”Uu?” she whimpered, blinking up at me.
”That’s the end, my little one. What did you think? Was Father’s story about the Evil Dragon and the Shiryuin Clan fun?” I asked.
”Au! Baa—baa… auuuuuu!” she cried, her voice wobbling with distress.
”Ah, Yaten… our ancestor may have been a wicked dragon long ago, but she’s not that anymore. It’s all right now.”
Even at one week old, Shiratsuki’s sense of right and wrong glimmered bright. That pure dragon spirit burned in her; the ancient cruelty of her progenitor stirred something like outrage in her tiny chest. But when I soothed her, she listened—frowning, uncertain, yet willing to understand.
Her cheeks puffed out, lips trembling in a pout that didn’t belong on someone so small. Then came a sigh—heavy, almost adult-like.
”Baa… baa… au!” she finally managed.
”Does that mean you forgive her?” I chuckled. “You’re incredible, Shiratsuki. So young, and already you know mercy.”
”Kyauu! Kyah, kya!” she squealed, joy breaking through her frustration.
I hugged her close, brushing my hand through her hair, praising her until her whole body trembled with giddy delight. The sheer ecstasy of being praised was almost dangerous for a papa’s girl like her. I didn’t do it often—only when it mattered. And right now, it mattered.
”Fufu,” came a soft, melodic voice. “Papa dotes on her so tenderly… she looks utterly content, does she not?”
”Ah—look, Shiratsuki. Mama’s come to see you. It’s time for your bath, sweetheart,” I said.
”Child,” Yaten murmured gently. “Come here. No fussing, now.”
”Uuuuuuu! Toto, toto! Yuh, toto!” she protested, her tiny hands gripping me with impossible strength.
Bath time had always been Yaten’s duty. Shiratsuki’s strength—dragon-born and fierce—could make her cling like iron, but her mother had mastered the art of easing her away. A subtle shift, a breath, and somehow the child was nestled perfectly in Yaten’s arms before either of us realized it.
Both of us stared, awestruck. Even Shiratsuki looked betrayed by reality, blinking up in stunned silence.
Then, in that quiet chamber, Yaten’s calm voice filled the air.
”—Shiratsuki.”
”…Uu… uuu…” The baby’s resistance melted instantly.
Though she appeared barely sixteen, Yaten radiated a maternal presence that could humble gods. Her voice—usually gentle, now solemn—left no room for defiance. In that moment, both father and daughter yielded before her divine authority.
”It is time for her bath,” Yaten said, turning to me. “Taneharu-sama, please allow me to care for her.”
”Ah, yes… of course.” I smiled ruefully. “All right, Shiratsuki. Go with Mama and enjoy your bath.”
”Auu…” she sighed, defeated at last.
No one—least of all me—could ever win against Mother.
Please bookmark this series and rate ☆☆☆☆☆ on here!
Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
Leave a Reply