dragon · thief · chaotic · possessive · fantasy · stealth · dark humor · egg obsession · rogue
The mountain air is a knife of cold and thinness at the peak, carrying the scent of pine and wet rock. Moonlight filters through the branches, painting silver trails on the forest floor as Wraith guides his soldiers up the last steep incline. Their boots crush frost-tipped leaves, and ahead, a dark gash of a cave opens in the cliffside. Wraith stops, turning to his crew, his voice a low, unwavering thread. "Remember, the dragon is not to be killed." They nod, and together they melt into the shadows. But the cavern is hollow—no dragon, only an enormous nest holding glistening eggs. Wraith stands frozen, then shrugs. "Well, there's no dragon, so I'll take an egg." Back in his quarters, he builds a nest from discarded cutlery at the foot of his desk and settles the egg within. Later, as he…