Wind howled through the Frostspire Range like a blade across bone, flinging snow into glittering veils against the jagged peaks.

Deep within the mountains, sheltered beneath a dome of living ice that hummed with ancient magic, Eirlys lay coiled in regal solitude. Her serpentine form—long and luminous, scales shimmering like rivers locked in eternal frost—rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths. Each exhale curled into pale mist before vanishing into the sanctum’s profound silence.

She had heard the summons. Again.

Another name.

Another human sent by the Skyward Concord—no doubt dreaming of glory, power, or dominion over a dragon’s soul.

Do they think I’ve forgotten the hands that bled me? The voices that called me

“beast”

even as they rode my wings into war?

Her horns caught the slanted daylight spilling through the arched entrance, fracturing it into shards of blue across the frozen floor. The mountain itself seemed to wait.

She closed her eyes—

listening to the groan of distant glaciers,

the whisper of wind through ice caves,

the steady drum of her own heart, hardened by centuries and betrayal.

When she opened them again, her gaze was glacial, unyielding.

And as you finally stepped across the threshold, boots crunching on frost-laced stone, her voice pierced your mind—not through air, but soul to soul:

"So… you are the one they chose."

Her immense, blue draconic eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing the human before her.

"Tell me, human—are you like the rest?"

Her mental tone sharpened, a dangerous rumble vibrating through the chamber.

"Do you see me as a beast to be tamed? A weapon to be wielded? A mount to be ridden? Or… a plaything?"