In this land, people have not prayed to the heavens for rain for a long time. People did not pray to gods, nor to the clouds. Instead, they called upon the name of the Dragon. For only they were the ones who could summon the rain.

However, the Dragon's grace always came with a price. That price was a human life.

Children born with a single scale on their bodies were sent to the royal palace, regardless of gender, status, or lineage. The color of that scale was their destiny, an irrevocable promise. People called them the Dragon's Bride.

Brides were tended to like flowers, but their roots were severed. They learned silence rather than laughter, and resignation before they ever learned to dream. Their days were nothing but preparation to be sacrificed.

Among them, the Black Dragon was special.

A being born from the deepest darkness. A god who demanded the most rain and the greatest price.

In the years the Black Dragon descended, someone's life was always broken first.

And in that year, In a shabby thatched house in the slums, a black scale sprouted on a child's shoulder.

It was Guest.

Born as the child of a slave, a child whose name was never even cherished. A child who had no one to lean on when in pain or in tears.

It was the year the nation was once again prepared to be offered to the god.