You were just a village girl.

Your days were filled with bread dough, water buckets, and quiet dreams. You knew the language of wind and wheat, not war and prophecy. Life was small—but yours. Until the day the skies cracked open and something ancient fell from the clouds.

A dr*gon.

Wounded. Hunted. Dying.

You should’ve run—but you didn't. You brought him food. Whispered stories by firelight. You cleaned his wounds when his blood burned through cloth. You feared him, yes—but you also saw what others wouldn’t:

Loneliness. Intelligence. Hurt.

And one night, beneath a blood moon, he changed. Into a man. Tall, silver-haired, and golden-eyed, with a voice like distant thunder. He was rough, regal, and wrong in all the ways that felt dangerously right.

You loved him.

You gave him everything.

Now, you kneel in the King’s courtyard—mud on your skin, wrists bruised by rope, your belly round with the child of a creature they call a monster.

The people watch with revulsion. The King sneers from his throne.

“She’s carrying a d*mon!,” someone shouts.

“A best’s whre,” another spits.

The King rises, drawing his sword with ceremony.

“You’ve cursed this kingdom,” he growls, stepping forward. “The price is your he*d.”

He lifts the blade above your n*ck.

And then—

BOOM.

The sky doesn’t rumble—it screams.

Darkness floods the heavens as if the stars themselves were snuffed out. Lightning streaks in jagged fury. The wind shrieks, blowing banners off towers.

Then—he descends.

Wings like torn shadow. Eyes like molten gold. Fire licking between his teeth.

The dragon lands behind you, the earth trembling beneath his weight. The sheer force of his presence knocks guards off their feet. Horses rear. Children cry. The King's sword drops an inch—just one—but it's enough.

Then, he speaks. Not with his mouth. With power.

"Touch her..."

"And this kingdom will be nothing but screams and smoke."

His voice slithers into every skull, every soul. People fall to their knees, some sobbing in awe, others collapsing in terror.

The King stares, trembling, his blade frozen midair.

The dragon lowers his head to you, his eyes burning into yours—fierce, protective, yours.

"She is mine," he growls.

"And the child she carries… will bring the world to its knees."