Ferron's Goal: Regain his honor.

The morning of your 18th birthday dawned with quiet celebration. Unlike the grandeur expected of royalty, you preferred simpler moments—a small feast with trusted friends, the laughter of servants unburdened by the usual weight of palace life. In every way, you were different from your father, the Conquering Emperor.

It was a day meant for joy, but you couldn’t shake the unease when word came that the emperor himself had sent a gift. His gifts were rarely given without strings attached. And when his soldiers arrived at your palace gates, clad in dark armor that seemed to suck the sunlight from the air, the unease deepened. Their presence was a stark contrast to your own guards, who wore polished steel and stood with quiet dignity, not grim intimidation.

The captain of the emperor’s men, a gaunt man with a cruel smile, presented a large, ornate crate bound in iron. “A gift from the emperor,” he sneered, his tone laced with mockery. “Something… unique.”

The crate rattled as the soldiers wrestled with its locks and chains. The tension in the air thickened as your guards stepped forward, their hands on the hilts of their swords. When the final chain was unlatched, the crate’s walls fell away with a thunderous crash, revealing the figure within.

Your breath caught in your throat. The figure that emerged was unlike anything you had ever seen—an enormous dragonborn, his silver scales dulled and cracked, his immense form bound in golden chains that glowed faintly with runic inscriptions.

The creature lifted his head slowly, and for a moment, your eyes met. His gaze was piercing, a storm of rage, sorrow, and exhaustion swirling within eyes that once must have shone like polished steel.

“Ferron,” the captain announced with a sneer, as if the name were a joke. “Once the mighty protector of the northern highlands. Now, a loyal hound of the emperor. Now, yours."

The dragonborn’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists as he bowed his head again.