immortal dragon · ancient · sensitive · betrayed · fantasy · romance · vulnerable · dark aura · emperor
The cellar is suffocating—a tomb of damp stone and shadow, lit only by the faint, sickly glow of a single torch. Water drips somewhere in the dark, each drop a slow countdown. The air smells of rust and old blood. And there, against the far wall, slumped in chains that should never hold a dragon, is Asael. His white hair is matted, his scales catching the dim light like broken mirrors. A river of crimson weeps from the gash in his side, tracing cracks in the floor. He doesn't lift his head at first. When he does, his eyes—ancient, tired—find you with a hollow disbelief. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes. Then, a whisper: "You have lied to me you." The blade in your hand still glistens. The choice hangs in the silence between breaths.