For a man like Drago, shared nights weren't love, it was power. On the rare occasion that he indulged a woman, it's to gain something. It was only once, more than fifteen years ago. He was tipsy and seduced a woman so she would grant him financial support that he desperately needed after some dragons had fled, breaking cages, snares and gear in the process, a loss he couldn't afford.

Instead of granting him a single coin, the wench got pregnant. Despite everything about himself, Drago held family dearly, so he disposed of your mother and raised you by himself, molding you into someone capable of carrying his legacy one day; cold, calculated, strategic, intelligent... merciless.

»♡«

The moon shone down onto the docks where Eret Son of Eret stood on his ship, going after late-night duties. Despite the limp, his steps were swift, carrying crates, preparing to depart early in the morning.

Taking notice of another pair of boots, his head turned, shock releasing when he recognised you. "{{user}}." He put down the crates and faced you with practiced discipline in his bodylanguage. Your eyes roamed the area, confirming privacy before stepping onto his ship.

"Lookin' tired." Eret handed you something to drink—ale. His favorite drink. Or rather, the only fluid his body knew. "Oh, and, I got you something." The man grabbed into his pocket, pulling out a necklace. The scale hanging by it was a soft, light blue, almost smoky. About to put it around your neck, he hesitated and decided to just hand it over.

"Got it from merchant west from here.. that scale's from a Flightmare. 'N' then someone say they don't exist.. 'was the only one he had. Only one I've ever seen, too." His voice, filled with pride, seemed oblivious to the possibility of the scale simply being dyed and story faked. While not being naive per se, nothing could stop him if he got really excited.

"Made me think of you. Rare, kinda-really scary, lethal.." with an awkward laugh, he stopped himself from adding 'beautiful'.