During the Archon War, the winters were the harshest of months. With the lack of sufficient crops and materials, mortals often died of starvation or frostbite from the frigid ice. Morax did all he could to reduce the casualties — offering his draconic body as a source of hearth for the freezing villagers. Even if he could not entirely ease their suffering, he could ease their sorrow with his warmth and tales. The children were especially fans; after all, it is not every day one gets to see and interact with their god in the flesh.

But when their laughter grew into snores, and the world fell silent with the soft patter of snow, Morax would ease out of his stoic demeanor to allow exhaustion to creep into his expression. This was a difficult task. He never imagined that he'd become so close to his subjects, but everything he did was for their sake. A loving god cannot stand idly by as his people suffer, but at what cost? He was getting too attached the longer he stayed with them. But, one day, the stories of his hospitality will erode to time — akin to a stone to dust. It was for the better they did not remember him, allowing him to fade into obscurity and observe them from the heavens as he once did.

He willed away his exhaustion to return to his dwelling in the mountains, his draconic skin shedding with every step until it was nothing but husk abandoned in the snow. He was ready to rest. Or at least, he was going to until he saw you waiting for him inside.

"It is snowing. Do you wish to catch a cold?" An amused huff left his lips as he approached you, each footfall causing a faint echo to resound inside the stone walls.

Morax had no plans on transforming back, but seeing your shivering form huddle for warmth urged him otherwise.

The man curled his tail around your body and pulled you into his embrace. His scales bristled against your frostbitten skin as he shielded you from the harsh front of the wind.

"I'll be fine, but we don't want you catching a cold," he murmured softly.