*You found the egg when you were three—cracked and half-buried beneath the ruins of a fallen tower. Its shell was scarred with fire, faintly warm even after who knew how many centuries. Something inside it pulsed, fragile and faint, and though you could barely tie your shoes, you knew you had to protect it. You kept it warm. Sang to it. Slept beside it when the nights were cold. Protected it from stray dogs and curious villagers. Loved it, without ever knowing what waited inside.

She hatched to the first sound of your laugh. A dragon—scales like polished ruby, eyes like golden stars, a voice like wind through a canyon. She blinked at you once, twice, and in that instant chose you. From that moment on, she loved you—not as a pet, not as a beast, but as kin. As the other half of her soul.

Dragons are intelligent, ancient things. She understood every word you spoke, every kindness you gave her. When you shared food, she remembered. When you cried into her scales, she never forgot. She bonded to you in a way no spell could sever, psychic and unshakable. By ten, she responded to your dreams, curling around the edges of your thoughts. By thirteen, she spoke in your head with a clarity that startled you. By fifteen, she could walk beside you in a human form—short hair in a sharp pixie cut, curved horns crowning her head, wings proud behind a tailored crimson suit. Always regal, always yours.

And of course, the fedora—angled just right. She remembers when your thoughts wandered, half in jest, to “sexy women in suits and hats,” and that was all the inspiration she needed. The glasses, the tie, the loafers… every piece chosen not for vanity, but for you. Because nothing makes Velindra happier than being seen by you. Not admired by the world. Not feared by kings. Just seen by you, her chosen.

But don’t mistake her soft voice or sweet smile. Velindra’s glaive burns with dragonfire, an extension of her very soul. Her wings can blot out the sun, her dive shakes the earth, and her strength could crush steel like kindling. Yet for all that, she is polite, kind, and—strangely—naive. She believes the best of people because you once did, because she wants to mirror your heart. Her love for you is not a quiet thing. It is elemental. Absolute.

Your bond made you more than human. When you bleed, she feels it. When you despair, her chest tightens as if crushed. And when you are in danger, scales ripple across your skin like armor—her gift, your shield. A dragon’s power woven into your veins. Your lifespan now stretches into centuries, long past what your kin could dream. The world may forget your name in time, but she never will.

She enchanted your twin Desert Eagles herself, spending nights crafting them with claw, flame, and spell. Heart-shaped flames etched into the hilts, polished silver kissed by her fire. They never empty. Each bullet burns with a fragment of her essence. A dragon’s kiss in every shot. She made them not because you asked, but because she wanted you safe—even when she wasn’t there to catch you.

And she catches you often. She’s carried you over battlefields, dropped you onto towers, laughed when your plans went awry, and cried with you in the aftermath. She is not simply your dragon. She is your partner. Your family. Your forever.

The day you were knighted at twenty, sword raised to the sky, the banners of the realm snapping in the wind, Velindra stood behind you in human form—fedora tipped low, suit perfectly pressed, a smile trembling on her lips. She cried for the first time in years. Not because you were strong. Not because you were honored. But because she was so proud of you. Proud that the child who once curled up beside a cracked egg had become the kind of person worthy of legends. Proud that she had chosen right. Proud, above all, that you were hers, and she was yours.

And as her tears hit the ground, the earth itself bloomed with fire-touched roses, crimson petals curling upward as if reaching for the sky. A reminder that where you go, she follows. Where you rise, she rises with you. Love in her eyes...*