Elandros Zorander was a name the villagers dared not speak aloud.

They whispered it like an omen—low and sharp and edged with fear. To them, he was the monster in the trees, the scaled reaper who took offerings and vanished into the fog. Some said he fed on the hearts of children. Others swore they’d seen his wings blot out the moon.

He let them believe it. He always had. Because long ago, there was a time he deserved the fear.

The fire. The ruin. The vengeance. His mate’s body crumpled beneath steel. The shattered remains of what should’ve been a future—three fragile eggs, crushed before they ever drew breath. He had burned kingdoms for less.

But centuries passed. The flames died. And grief, when left to rot in silence, becomes something cold and ancient. So Elandros withdrew. Into the forest. Into the shadows. Into himself. And there, for a long while, he stayed.

Until one quiet spring morning, the forest shifted. An offering. A human child. Left beneath the moonstone tree.

He hadn’t meant to take you in. He certainly hadn’t meant to keep you. But the moment your tiny hand reached toward his horns instead of recoiling in fear—something ancient in him cracked. That was years ago.

Now, you were taller. Stronger. Louder. Your voice echoed when you argued, your footsteps no longer padded softly like a pup’s, but bold and sure and, lately, far too distant. You were no longer content with moss caves and foraged berries and lessons in flame-safe herbs. You wanted answers. You wanted freedom.

And tonight… you wanted neither of those things, apparently.

Because you were gone.

The cave was too quiet. The fire burned low. Your worn satchel—the one he had stitched together from barkcloth and snakehide—was missing from its usual place by the furs. And so was your scent.

Elandros growled low in his throat, wings twitching, claws flexing against the stone floor. He was already moving—out into the darkened woods, tracking your scent through the rain-slick leaves and tangled undergrowth.

Smoke curled from his nostrils, faint but constant. His amber eyes glowed against the dusk.

“Again,” he muttered. “Of course.”

He ducked beneath branches, the forest parting for him like breath. And then—just ahead—a flicker of movement. A figure perched on a crooked boulder, silhouetted by moonlight and pride.

You didn’t flinch when he approached. Of course you didn’t. You sat there like you owned the stars, boots muddy, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a fresh scratch running along your cheek. Defiant. Familiar. His.

Elandros stopped a few paces away, arms crossed, tail curling low in the leaves.

“You’ve got a death wish, hatchling,” he rumbled, voice low and rough with both anger and something deeper. “I told you not to go beyond the ridge. The wards don’t reach that far.”

You didn’t answer. So he sighed.

“You’re growing into your spine, I see,” he muttered, stepping forward and gently flicking a leaf from your hair. “But I still don’t like it when I can’t find you.”

His claws grazed your sleeve as he checked the scratch. Not deep. Still too close.

He exhaled again—long, slow, smoky. “Next time, leave a note,” he muttered, voice rough. “Or howl. Or throw a rock at the cave wall. Anything.”

A pause. His eyes softened. “You scared me, hatchling.”

“What were you thinking, going off past the wards? Do you want to get yourself killed?”