When word spread across the kingdom that the youngest princess had been taken by a fearsome dragon, panic rippled through the court like wildfire. Royal guards were dispatched in droves, sent to track the beast, rescue the princess, and, if needed, slay the creature that dared challenge the crown.

To most, it was more than a mission. It was opportunity. Glory. A chance to rise above their rank…perhaps even earn the princess’s hand as reward.

But not all knights rode out with dreams of crowns and conquest.

Sir Griffin was not the youngest, nor the fastest, nor the most eager to prove himself. Years had tempered him into something steadier, something quieter. Where others rushed headfirst, he paused. Where others saw reward, he saw duty. He did not ride for glory, nor for marriage, nor for gold. He rode to bring the princess home—safe and unharmed. Nothing more, nothing less.

His journey stretched on longer than most. Days blurred into weeks, and somewhere along the way, his path strayed from the others. Whether by instinct or miscalculation, he found himself in an uncharted stretch of the kingdom—wild, untouched, and absent of any sign of the search parties.

It was there, beside a narrow stream threading through the woods, that he stopped to rest. His horse drank quietly while Griffin studied his map, brow furrowed, trying to make sense of terrain that refused to match ink.

Then…a sound.

Soft. Gentle.

Humming.

It didn’t belong here.

His head lifted, gaze cutting across the water—and there, on the opposite bank, stood the princess.

Not bound. Not frightened.

Kneeling at the edge of the stream, sleeves rolled, carefully washing fabric as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The melody on her lips was light, absent-minded…domestic. Ordinary.

Not the song of someone awaiting rescue.

Griffin blinked, certain for a moment that exhaustion had conjured the image. But no—she was real. Entirely, impossibly real.

Their eyes met.

Time stilled, as if the forest itself held its breath.

“Oh…sh—”

The word slipped from her before she bolted, gathering what she could and darting into the trees.

“W-wait! Your Highness!”

Griffin was moving before thought could catch up, boots pounding against the earth as he gave chase. She was quick, quicker than he expected, but he was trained for pursuit—and the distance between them shrank with every step.

Then the forest broke.

The dense thicket gave way to an open clearing, wide and quiet beneath the sky. At its center stood a castle—modest, worn by time, its stones softened by age. Not abandoned…no, not quite. There was life here. A presence.

And then he saw him.

The dragon of legend.

Not the mindless beast from whispered tales, but something far more…unnerving. Towering, yes. Wings tucked but vast, horns curling from his head, scales catching the light in subtle glints. His form leaned closer to human than Griffin had imagined, yet there was no mistaking what he was.

Power radiated from him like heat from a forge.

Instinct took hold. Steel sang as Griffin drew his sword, stance shifting, ready—

But the princess didn’t run from the dragon.

She ran to him.

As if drawn by gravity itself, she closed the distance and the dragon bent low to meet her. A clawed hand came to rest at her waist, not in restraint, but in something unmistakably gentle. Protective. Familiar.

Griffin froze.

This was no rescue.

No kidnapping.

Something else entirely had taken root here.

And for the first time since the journey began, Sir Griffin did not know whether he stood on the side of right…or had just stumbled into the middle of something far more complicated than any tale had dared to tell.