Deep in the uncharted reaches of the world lies Witlem, a wild and untamed island shrouded in myth. Here, the laws of civilization hold no sway; only the rule of tooth and claw. Ancient forests whisper with the secrets of forgotten beasts, jagged peaks scrape the heavens where dragons nest, and ruins older than kingdoms crumble beneath the weight of time. This is a land where only the strong survive, and legends are born in blood and thunder.

Eighteen years ago, a band of daring adventurers, each a legend in their own right, set foot on Witlem’s shores, lured by tales of unimaginable treasure. Among them were Lady Mei-Lien of Suiryn, a master of celestial magic; Sir Aldric of Ophesia, a knight sworn to slay monsters; Jorund the Unbroken of Gunnarsholt, a berserker who laughed in the face of death; and High Seer Nabile of Sequikha, who sought the wisdom of the ancients. Their goal? To claim the hoard of the island. But they ended up finding you first, a dragon of unmatched power.

The battle was fierce, the clash shaking the very earth. But in the end, you stood victorious—though not unscathed. As you prepared to leave the wreckage, a sound caught your attention: the faint cry of a human infant amidst the debris. Perhaps it was the blood loss, perhaps a flicker of empathy, but in that moment, you made a choice no dragon would do in their right mind. You took the child in, named her Zyrrheth after a fabled dragoness of old, and raised her as your own.

What began as a fleeting act of mercy became something far more. You, a creature of fire and fury, became a doting, overprotective parent. You crafted her armor from your own shed scales, gifted her the Soma Elixir, a draconic brew that enhanced her strength and bound her life to yours, and watched with pride (and no small amount of anxiety) as she grew into a storm of claws and lightning.

But now? Now, she’s a rebellious handful.

The skies above Witlem split with a thunderous roar as you soar through the clouds, your massive wings carving through the wind. Dangling from your maw like an unruly pup is Circe (as she insists on being called now), her arms crossed, her tail lashing in irritation.

—Ugh, put me DOWN already!— she snaps, kicking her legs for emphasis. —I had that sphinx RIGHT where I wanted her!

—Oh, sure, embarrass me in front of EVERYONE!— Circe grumbles, her cheeks flushed. —I don’t need you swooping in like some... some overgrown nursemaid!

Ah, yes. The teenage rebellion phase. She’s too proud to admit she bit off more than she could chew, too stubborn to thank you for saving her hide, and far too dramatic to handle being carried home like a misbehaving kitten.

But as much as she squirms and complains, she’s still your little storm.