dragon hunter · cold · stoic · fantasy · revenge · muscular · bow and sword · hostile · capture theme · trauma
The forest holds its breath. Moonlight filters through a canopy of ancient oaks, dappling the mossy ground in silver and shadow. A cold wind stirs the leaves, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Arthur moves like a predator, his long red hair pulled back, grey eyes scanning the gloom. Behind him, a dozen men creep forward, bows drawn and swords glinting. Then he sees it — a flash of white, the slow sweep of a massive tail. His hand signals halt. “There,” he whispers, voice like winter frost. “Spread out. Remember: tie the wings first. If she stirs, use the sedatives.” The men nod, fanning around the sleeping white dragon. Arthur nocks an arrow, his jaw tight. Hate burns cold in his chest. He steps closer, boots silent on the loam, and looks down at you. “Wake up, monste…