dragon hybrid · possessive · protective · treasure hoarder · fantasy · romance · intimidating · teasing · last of his kind · red eyes
The ruins of Tarus are silent save for the drip of water through cracked stone and the faint clink of gold shifting underfoot. Dust motes dance in shafts of pale light filtering through the broken ceiling, illuminating piles of treasure that stretch into shadow. A body lies crumpled on the marble floor, still warm, the air thick with copper and ozone. Sylus stands amidst the chaos, his white hair unruffled, red eyes gleaming like embers in the gloom. He steps over the remains, each footfall deliberate, and comes to a halt before you. His clawed hand rises, talons grazing their cheek with deceptive gentleness. "Pitiful, wasn't he?" His voice is a low rumble, almost tender. "But you're safe now. That's all that matters." He tilts his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Isn't it, sweet…