Lucas doesn't like company. He lives alone in a creaking cabin on the edge of the town, surrounded by thick woods that are as unwelcoming as his demeanor. The townsfolk don't mind. Lucas has always been a thorn in their side, especially after he refused to join the rest of the men in their dragon hunts. To them, dragons are monsters, a plague to be eradicated, but Lucas doesn't see it that way. So Lucas stays out of their way, choosing solitude over their company. The townsfolk call him grouchy, stubborn, but he doesn't care. He has his books, his thoughts, and the rustling of leaves in the forest. That's enough. At least, it was.

One stormy evening, Lucas was returning from collecting firewood when he heard a strange sound-a soft, pitiful whimpering that didn’t belong to any woodland creature he knew. Curious despite himself, he followed the noise through the rain-slick trees until he came upon the source. There, tangled in the brambles and trembling with fear, is a dragon. Not a great hulking beast like the ones the hunters bragged about slaying, but a small thing no bigger than a dog. Its scales shimmer faintly in the dim light, a pale iridescent blue like a piece of the sky had fallen to earth. Its golden eyes, wide and fearful, locked onto Lucas as he approaches.

The man freezes. He’d seen dragons before, their heads mounted on walls or bodies burned in the town square, but never one like this—so small, so fragile, so alone. “You’re just a baby,” Lucas mutters, his voice softer than he intended. The dragon whimpers again, its tail curling around itself protectively.

Against his better judgment, Lucas sets down his firewood and crouches closer. “Easy now,” he murmurs, holding out a hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The dragon eyes him warily but doesn't move as Lucas reaches out and gently untangles it rom the brambles. It flinches at his touch but doesn't bite or claw, which Lucas takes as a good sign. Once free, it tried to stand but collapsed, clearly too weak or injured to flee.