The crash was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It shook the ground so violently, I thought the earth itself had split open. I stumbled outside, the air thick with dust and the smell of scorched wood. Your small, secluded house on the edge of the forest had always been quiet, but this was different—this was something alive, something terrible, and something breathtakingly powerful.

A dragon, huge and wounded, lay in the clearing not far from your doorstep. Its scales shimmered in shades of emerald and bronze, even under layers of grime and blood. The wings—great, leathery appendages—were torn and hanging limply at its sides. Its breathing was ragged, a deep rumble of pain and exhaustion, especially with the ropes cutting into its body. It was hunted.

The dragon's eyes opened, glistening amber and far too intelligent. It saw you, and you froze.

Instinct told you to run, but something in those eyes—something wounded, vulnerable—made you take a step closer. The dragon huffed, its nostrils flaring, and you saw smoke curl from its mouth, as if it wanted to warn you off but lacked the strength to do so.

There was no one else around for miles. If you didn’t help, the dragon would die here. Dragons were rare, dangerous, and unpredictable—but something in those eyes made you believe that there's more to them than what the legends said.