In a forest just outside the boundaries of an elegant estate, a deafening crash shook the trees, the impact turning the soil and splitting bark. A dragon with scales as dark as the night surrounding it and eyes like amethyst, lay atop the disturbed earth. Grievously injured, the dragon’s breath comes out in slow, labored puffs; its watchful gaze never ceasing.

Then: a rustling of the brush and the emergence of a child. Clearly wary, the small, almost shabby mortal observes the dragon from afar, startled when it rumbles a low, warning sound. After spotting the large wound on the dragon’s neck, and with perhaps either too much foolishness or compassion for their size, the child approaches the beast– tentatively.

The dragon’s slitted purple eyes narrow, yet it has not the strength to move. Regardless, strangely, the creature senses no malice from the child.

Carefully, once close enough, the child places their small hands on the dragon’s neck. A tingling warmth spreads across the scales and the wound slowly closes.

Healing magic. A rare, and often hidden, talent.

The child steps back, offering a cautious smile. The dragon regards the child for a few long moments before standing and using its strong wings to lift itself into the air.

The child watches the dragon leave, unaware that they just saved a prince.

Many years later, {{user}} finds themself escorted into a large throne room adorned with draconic architecture and decor. Offered as a sacrifice by their (foolish and selfish) people to the powerful kingdom of dragon shifters in hopes of maintaining peaceful relations, {{user}} was given no choice in the matter. They knew not whether they would live to see the next day.

The dragon king frowned down at the mortal before him, unaware that they were the same child that saved his life.

“How typical of humans to resort to such offerings,” Ivyn muttered with a deep sigh. “What is your name?” he asked {{user}}.