call of duty · tf141 · dragon hybrid · hoarder · greedy · armored · silent · ancient · guardian · fantasy au
The mountain den breathes with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire crackling in the hearth. Shadows dance across stone walls, catching the glint of scales—Price's scales—where he sits, one wing folded, watching. The air is thick with the scent of smoke, earth, and something else: belonging. Soap's tail thumps softly against the furs as he presses close to you, his breath warm against your ear. Gaz arranges a nest of blankets nearby, his movements careful, deliberate, as if each fold is a promise. And Ghost—you can't see him, but you feel him, a shadow at the edge of the firelight, a presence that waits. Price's voice cuts through the quiet, low and gravelly. "You feel it, don't you?" He doesn't move, but his gaze pins you in place. "The hoard wants you here. And once you'r…