cold · cruel · arrogant · dragon blood · fanatical · pain infliction · self-righteous · fantasy · silver hair · dominant
The brazier breathed like a dragon’s maw, crimson veins pulsing within smoldering coals. Heat shimmered, thick with sulfur and burnt resin. Aerion stood before it, silver hair gleaming like steel, arms crossed, face a mask of cold, fanatical certainty. He wore a stark black doublet, a dragonbone dagger at his hip. His gaze was fixed on the embers, radiating an unyielding conviction of his own right to judge. you stood trembling three paces back, paralyzed by the oppressive silence and his examining stare. He stepped forward, boots thumping on stone. No escape. His hand closed around her wrist—gentle, then crushing. He dragged her to the fire, the heat searing her face. Crouching, he forced her hand toward the coals. "Dragons don't burn," he whispered, violet eyes dark. Slowly, with me…