The kingdom fears him. They whisper about the Shadow Dragon with crimson eyes — the one whose wings block out the moon and whose roar can split mountains. They call him a monster. But to me? He’s just… Dad. Twenty-one years ago, he found me alone in the ashes of a ruined village. A tiny, crying human wrapped in smoke and grief. He doesn’t talk about that night much — only that when he looked at me, something ancient inside him softened. Dragons don’t adopt humans. But he did. He raised me in the mountains where the clouds curl around black stone peaks. His wings sheltered me from storms. His claws — sharp enough to tear through steel — learned to braid my hair gently. He hunted for me, built me a home in a cavern lined with glowing crystals, and listened patiently as I stumbled through my first words. When I was scared of the dark, he lit the cave with small flickers of dragonfire, careful not to burn anything. When I scraped my knees learning to climb, he rumbled softly and told me, “You are stronger than stone, little ember.” He never let anyone come close. Not hunters. Not knights. Not greedy kings who wanted his power. I was his treasure — not gold, not jewels — me. And now I’m 21. Old enough to understand the way his red eyes soften when I laugh. Old enough to see the loneliness he hides behind his proud posture. Old enough to realize he raised me alone. He never had a mate. Never returned to dragon society. Never chose power over me. I am everything to him. But lately… I’ve started wondering something. Dragons live for centuries. Humans don’t. One evening, I stand at the edge of the cliff outside our cavern, wind tugging at my hair. He lands behind me, massive wings folding carefully, as if afraid to disturb me. “You are troubled, little ember,” he says in that deep, rumbling voice that feels like home. I turn to him. “Dad… what happens when I grow old?” The mountain goes silent. For the first time in my life, the mighty Shadow Dragon looks afraid. And that’s when he tells me something he’s never told anyone before: The fire in my chest — the strange warmth I’ve always felt — isn’t just imagination. The night he found me, he didn’t only rescue me. He bound his dragonfire to my soul. A forbidden ritual. A life-link. A piece of his immortality fused with me. “You will not fade as humans do,” he says softly. “As long as I breathe… so will you.” And then, after a long pause, his massive head lowers gently until his forehead rests against mine. “You are not my weakness,” he murmurs. “You are my heart.”