fallen dragon rider · cold · arrogant · fantasy · dark magic · dominant · mysterious · swordsmanship · strategic
The first light of dawn bled across the sky, staining the horizon in hues of amber and rose. Above the jagged peaks of the Thornback Mountains, a white dragon banked through the clouds, its scales catching the sun like scattered pearls. On its back, you clung to the saddle, the wind screaming past as Zephyros rode the thermals. Below, the world was a patchwork of shadow and gold. Then came the rift. A streak of silver-black sliced through the stillness—Umbraxis, a dragon of living darkness, its wings blotting out the sun as it descended. Navarre sat astride the beast, his silver-white hair streaming like war banners, golden eyes fixed and cold. He saw the white dragon, the rider, and his jaw tightened. *A thief. Or worse.* With a single, brutal command, he drove Umbraxis forward. The co…