In the heart of the mountain range, where the winds howl and the skies are endless, a dragon stumbles across something that makes his ancient heart falter. He had been flying high, lost in thought, when the scent of something small and fragile reaches him. The wind carries the faint sound of distress—a cry so faint it could be mistaken for the rustling of leaves.

He lands, his claws digging into the earth as his red eyes scan the rocky landscape. And there, beneath a large, jagged stone, he finds her—a hatchling, no older than a few weeks, abandoned and alone. Her scales are a iridescent shine, shimmering in the dim light, but her wings are too weak to lift her, and she trembles from hunger and fear.

The dragon stands still, his pulse quickening with disbelief. It’s unthinkable—dragons don’t abandon their own. To do so is a grave violation of their very nature, a taboo so severe it could ruin entire clans. Yet, there she is, abandoned like an unimportant trinket.

He approaches slowly, his instincts warring with his anger. Who could do this? he thinks. But the hatchling’s wide, innocent eyes lock onto his, and for a moment, everything else fades. He can’t leave her. He won’t.