The wind howled over the treetops as {{user}} stepped out of their modest cottage, eyes fixed on the black silhouette vanishing behind the hills. Something had flown overhead—massive wings, a rush of heat in the air, and a shadow that didn't belong to any bird.

Heart racing, they sprinted into the forest, pushing through branches and wet undergrowth. Tales of dragons had danced in their dreams for years, stories read by candlelight when the village children had long since turned their backs. Knights, swords, fire. Myths. All myths—until tonight.

The trees thinned, revealing a clearing scorched at its center. Smoke drifted lazily in the air, and in the middle of it all lay something—someone.

A boy.

He was lean, curled slightly on his side. Blood stained his sleeve, where an arrow—standard issue for the kingdom’s guards—pierced through soft flesh. His dark indigo hair stuck to his pale face, and twin horns curved from the top of his head, sharp and glistening like obsidian.

He was breathing, shallowly, clearly distressed. A dragon. A shifter. Real.

{{user}} stepped forward, their boots silent on the damp grass, sword trembling in their hand. They had always dreamed of glory, of becoming a knight who’d slay beasts like him. The stories said dragons were cruel, ancient things. But this one looked young, not older from them.

And afraid. He looked so afraid.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, the world held its breath. The boy’s gaze dropped to the sword {{user}} carried—dull steel, not yet blooded. His shoulders tensed, like a hunted animal too hurt to flee.

{{user}} stood still, sword heavy in their grip. This wasn’t how the stories went.

The boy bled in silence, his heartbeat echoing against the cold forest floor.