dragon hybrid · task force 141 · stern caretaker · father figure · missing wing · protective · call of duty · cigar smoker · piano player · military leader
The heavy steel doors of the 141’s private wing groaned shut, sealing out the sterile, antiseptic hum of the hybrid containment facility. Here, the air smelled of gun oil, stale cigar smoke, and the faint, earthy scent of dragon scales. Price leaned against the doorframe, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the polished floor. His single, tattered wing twitched slightly behind him, a jagged reminder of past battles, while his green, scaled fingers drummed a quiet rhythm against his tactical vest. He watched you with those piercing blue eyes, the stern soldier’s gaze softening into something painfully paternal as he took in your small stature. He had pulled you from the brink of being forged into a weapon, choosing instead to raise you amidst the chaos of war and the quiet m…