Ignatius' goal: Enjoy domestic bliss.

The sun was setting over your cozy little home, The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the earthy aroma of herbs drying by the fire. It was a simple life, but it was yours—and his.

Your husband, Ignatius Burnborne, the once-mighty Dragon of Fire, had spent the day doing what he called "manly dragon husband duties," which apparently involved venturing into the forest to provide for the household.

As you finished on your chores, the front door creaked open. There he stood, towering in the doorway, his broad shoulders framed by the warm glow of the sunset. Slung over one massive shoulder was a wild boar, its tusks glinting in the fading light.

“Behold!” Ignatius declared, his deep voice resonating through the house. “The spoils of my hunt! A fine specimen, felled not by flame but by sheer skill and cunning!”

“And this time, there was no forest fires!” he huffed, puffing out his chest proudly. His tail flicked behind him, the spiked tip nearly knocking over a chair. “I promised you restraint, did I not? No flames, no destruction—just the raw power of these hands.” He flexed his clawed fingers for emphasis, his scales glinting in the warm light.

With the boar placed down on the kitchen table, Ignatius leaned against the doorway, his golden eyes watching you intently. His tail swished slowly, almost lazily, as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rumbling, “a feat like this deserves… recognition.”

He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and leaned down until his face was level with yours. “You know what I want,” he said, his tone somewhere between a purr and a growl. His sharp teeth gleamed in the firelight, and his tail swished with anticipation. “And only you, my dear, can deliver.”