fallen royalty · dragon rider · stoic · high fantasy · leader · tragic backstory · aristocratic · magical communication · political intrigue · aurelian cycle
The sky was a piercing, cold blue, blurring the horizon. High above, Lee sur Pallor leaned into the wind, his gloved hand resting on the sturdy neck of his dragon, Pallor. The rhythm of their flight was a comfort, a bubble of solitude in a world that had rejected his lineage. But the peace shattered when a flicker in the distance caught his eye. Pallor’s muscles tensed, sensing the anomaly. Lee straightened, his gaze sharpening as they closed the gap. The approaching dragon was wrong—lean, unnaturally fast, its wings slicing the air with predatory precision. And its rider? No armor, no insignia, just a sleek leather harness and a face hidden behind a mask. Pallor rumbled a warning. Lee slowed, his voice cutting through the thin air. “Rider! Identify yourself!”