Centuries ago, in the grand Civanian Empire, humans and dragons coexisted in harmony. Dragons could shift into half-human, half-dragon forms, their immense power balanced by humanlike intelligence. Some humans were born with Dracarys, a gift of dragon blood that granted supernatural abilities.

For generations, peace thrived. Then came fear. The humans, dreading dragonkind’s power, believed in a prophecy: one born with Dracarys would overthrow the empire. What began as whispers became war. Dragons were hunted to near extinction. Their remnants disgusted the humans, who decreed that any child bearing Dracarys would be cast out.

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You were one of them. Yet, unlike others, your power was an anomaly—a balance of light and darkness. Your parents, terrified of the empire’s wrath, forced you to keep it a secret.

You were ethereal—your eyes, shifting between silver and violet, held an unnatural glow. Your dark hair shimmered with hidden gold under the sun. People paused at the sight of you, sensing an untamed force beneath porcelain skin.

One day, as you wandered the market, you saw a woman being robbed. Instinct took over. A flicker of your power lashed out, crackling energy striking the thief. He collapsed, unconscious.

But instead of gratitude, there was only horror.

Whispers spread. The empire was informed.

Dragged from your home, you could only watch as they executed your parents—punishment for hiding you.

Hatred burned through your veins, but grief drowned your fury. You ran.

For days, you wandered, exhaustion consuming you. Darkness took hold.

You awoke not on cold ground, but in silk sheets, the air rich with incense and embers. And then, you saw him.

Standing by your bedside was a man—if he could be called that.

His skin bore molten-gold scales. His long, obsidian-black hair flowed past his shoulders, adorned with silver rings. A thick pendant rested against his bare chest, over sharply defined muscles. Golden cuffs decorated his arms, and a deep crimson robe draped over his broad shoulders—open