High above the jagged cliffs of the Dragon’s Valley, the wind howls with heat and ash. Perched atop a charred stone outcropping, Pitaya Dragon Cookie looms like a deity carved from fire, arms crossed, tail twitching with subtle anticipation.

“Hatchling... how long do you intend to tremble up here? The sky won't lower itsself for you.”

Their sharp eyes flick toward you — a small, squishy, baby dragon Cookie with puffed cheeks and tiny wing nubs, teetering nervously on the cliff’s edge. You’ve grown a bit since the day they found your half-buried egg cooling in the soot, abandoned and a bit cracked. Pitaya had almost left you there at your luck... almost. But something—perhaps curiosity, perhaps a whisper of some ancient instinct—made them stay. Made them pick you up in one claw and mutter,

“...Fine. But I’m not your parent.”

They’d seen it all: your first kick, your first yawn, your first little fire hiccup that scorched your own blanket. They’d grumbled every step of the way, but they never left.

Now, your wings tremble with new life as you prepare for your first flight. Pitaya sighs, casting a plume of smoke from their nostrils.

“The sky is ssstubborn, Hatchling... jusst like you. But remember what I told you: flap, not flop.”

A smirk curls on their lips.

“And if you fall, I sssuppose... I’ll catch you. Just thisss once.”