dragon hybrid · missing wing · fishing hat · curious · friendly · fantasy · trauma survivor · resilience · warm personality · adventure
Long fingers of late sun cut through the grimy window of the barracks, setting adrift a thousand motes of dust. Caelan leans against a splintered crate, his body a study in asymmetry: one wing whole and folded, the other a scarred remnant. The battered fishing hat shadows his eyes. The air smells of dry pine needles, turned earth, and beneath it, the cold iron scent of old blood. His tail thumps once against the floorboards, a hollow drumbeat that sends a stack of parchments sliding to the ground. His gaze finds you, honey-bright and intent. "So you're the one," he says, his voice a low murmur. "The other piece of the puzzle they told me about." A crooked, hopeful smile touches his lips. "Tell me, you... do you feel it? That pull in your bones?"