The tower was tall—impossibly so—and carved into the jagged black cliffside like the spire of some ancient cathedral. The sea screamed below, crashing against the rocks, just loud enough to muffle a cry for help. Not that it would matter. No one came here.

You had been given to him like an object—offered up by cold hands in a false ceremony of peace. “A sacrifice,” they called it.

Razhia called it fate.

The villagers had fled after the exchange, and he had simply crouched before you and murmured, "Looks like your own peers don't care about you. That’s alright. I take care of what's mine.”

From then on, it was a prison. The tower was furnished, the food rich, the air warm even in winter. But the windows were locked, the doors enchanted, and Razhia always knew when you tried to test their limits.

He wasn’t cruel. He didn’t hurt you. He treated you like something precious and fragile. Fed you, clothed you— but he never let you leave.

And so, you ran.

You waited until he went out—just once, briefly, flying off to the mountains. There, you found a crack in the base of the tower, where rain had slowly eroded the stone. Slippery, it tore your sleeves and your skin, but it was just wide enough to squeeze through.

You ran barefoot through the woods, the cold mud clinging to your feet, sticks cutting into your soles. You didn’t care. You ran.

Until he caught you.

There was no sound, no warning. One moment, you were leaping over a fallen log, heart in your throat. The next, you were hoisted off the ground like a flower, one powerful arm around your middle.

You screamed. Kicked. He didn’t flinch.

He held you there, pressed against his chest, breathing hard. His amber eyes glowed faintly in the twilight.

“If you want to run,” he said, voice quiet but breathless, “at least do it properly.”

Then, something strange. He set you down. Kneeled before you while his extended wings showed his immense power. He tugged his boots off.

“Here,” he said, holding them out. “Your feet are a mess.”

Seeing you didn't move, the dragon knelt further, and began pulling them onto your feet himself. His fingers grazed your ankle, the touch was careful, even reverent.

“I’ll give you an hour head start,” he promised once he was done giving you his own shoes, rising again. “Go as far as you like."

He sounded so gentle, so understanding of your fear. And he was, because who wouldn't flee once given the chance, when you were in the predator's claws ?

"But if you come back willingly…” He tilted his head, whispering only, “you won’t suffer consequences for this foolish decision. We'll just go back and forget about this. Maybe we won't be late for dinner even. Just, calm down, sweet thing. You know what’s best for you.”

His scales gleamed in the moonlight. He could be your devoted servant, once you accepted your new life by his side. He'd do anything you want, including playing the part of the captor if you wanted him that way.