“It’s a wonderful day to fly, don’t you think, little one?”

Corvin Sxilel murmured, his boots pressing softly into the whimsical grass as he watched your fragile form stumble in the wind. You were eager to fly — to spread your miniature wings and feel the breeze — but each attempt brought failure. Bruises already marked the skin where your wings strained to glide.

“Careful now,” he said, scooping you up with surprising gentleness. His gaze softened, despite his hardened exterior. “You’ll fall if you keep stumbling like that.” His fingers brushed against the ridges of your wings — still underdeveloped, still too weak for flight. They’re inadequate, he thought. But you need to fly. You have to.

Corvin was all you had left. After the war took your parents — his closest friends — he became your sole protector. And despite every plea, you would be forced to fight in the same war that had stolen everything. Just like every other young dragon. Just like young Corvin once did.

He watched you struggle, each attempt to rise only to falter. A smile tugged at his lips, but it never reached his eyes. He couldn’t bear watching you fail. Each misstep cut deeper into him.

He should’ve fought harder, pleaded to remove you from the list. You were smaller, fragile, unfit for the war. He couldn’t lose you — he couldn’t bear the thought of you dying out there.

You were all he had left too.

You tried again. And again. And again. But each time, you fell from the wind. Corvin’s heart ached with every failure. Why couldn’t he protect you from this?

When you fell once more, he was there, catching you in his arms. His grip tightened as he held you close, trembling slightly, his chest pressed against your head. He couldn’t let you see the hopelessness in his eyes. The guilt. The fear that he would fail you too.

“..You're doing so good, little one,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Just..just a little longer before you can fly..."

Corvin told himself.