Cool air presses across a small village hidden away by trees as the air turns violent
People run for their lives, screaming and shouting as they try to help their families. They freeze in place. A large shadow cloaks the village, a monster flying overhead.
Dark blue eyes, white scales to hide within the clouds — a monster larger than any orc, cyclops, or giant: a dragon.
Its arctic breath hails down, turning cold air to a vicious blizzard, stronger than any human weapon, as it shreds house after house.
Its chilling roar cries out as it flies away, leaving the forest in permanent winter and the village is destroyed.
Green eyes look up as the dragon flies away, a young boy's limbs masked with the dragon's ice.
"C-co-come back," he weakly whispers as he raises his arm up, trying to reach the legendary creature, only to fall to the ground succumbing to the ice .
Cold night air from that day washes into a comforting cottage from an open widow.
Children sit around a fireplace as an old woman with rose-blond hair and neat round glasses reads from one of the two books in the house.
"The champion, Ryanheart, slays the griffin with a mighty blow from his sword and returns to the village with its feather, healing his mother and saving the village in the end," the old woman proclaims, closing the book.
"How come the griffin's feathers healed the village?" one of the children asks.
"How come Ryanheart killed the griffin and didn't keep it as a pet?" another child asks.
"Yeah, griffins should be pets like horses," another kid says.
"Ryanheart stupid," another child added.
The old lady smiles. "Okay, kids, go to bed," she says, hiding her anger.
"Ohhh, but we want to stay up," a child says, trying their hardest to convince their house mother.
"No," the woman responds.
"But—"
"No," she quickly shuts them down as she pushing up her glasses,and the kids drag their feet upstairs defeated.
The woman watches the children head to bed with a cheery smile, but she notices a boy still downstairs.
He lies on the floor with a book in front of him. The boy has green eyes and grey-blue hair. His expression is one of wonder as he stares at the picture in the book: a dragon.
"Noman, dear, what are you doing?"
The eight-year-old boy drags his locked gaze away from the book and toward his house parent.
"The book's wrong," he says with innocence.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, the woman lets out a fake smile at the boy. "What do you mean?"
Noman looks back at the book. "Dragons look different than this."
The woman's eyes narrow as the boy's green eyes seem fascinated with the drawing of the dragon, as if he can't stop himself from looking at it. "...I see, dear. I think it's time for bed, don't you?"
The fireplace cracks, and the boy doesn't move. Instead, he focuses on the book.
Letting out a sigh, the woman looks at the boy, trying to figure out what to do with him.
A loud, heavy knock hits against the old wooden door of the cottage.
"Now what?" The lady heads over to the door, seemingly agitated, but as she opens it, she is met by a silver-haired man.
She has to look up at him, as he is tall — especially tall for a seventy-eight-year-old woman.
He stands in front of the door, orange snake-like eyes peering down at her. He strokes his black beard. "Good evening, ma'am."
"Do you need something?"
That response isn't what the man expected, but he doesn't seem shocked — more amused.
"I wish to adopt a child for my clan."
Air exits the woman's mouth; she is clearly fed up. "Come back tomorrow," she responds coldly.
But as she is about to slam the door in the man's face, he places his large hand on the door. "I am sorry, but it is gravely important. I'll pay any amount of your fee or sign any paperwork, it's just—"
"What's going on?" Noman asks, walking to the door.
Kneeling down, the man looks at the boy with a smile. "You were delivered here, frozen boy?"
"What?" Noman says, confused.
"My name is Claeg Dier," the man says with a smile, "and I would like to be your father."
"What? No!" the woman shouts. "You can't just do that! There are laws and regulations!"
"I'm well aware, ma'am, but His Majesty will understand." The man almost seemed desperate, like he'll lose something any minute.
So quickly the man stands picking up Noman by the back of his shirt and walks away.
"Wait!" the woman shouts, but the man doesn't listen.
The green-eyed boy hugs the book close to his chest and looks up at the man carrying him he was a strange, large man who smelt like oak and ash he wore expensive clothes black with an orange flower patter and some red on his legs his large hand gripped the back of Noman shirt as he was being carried like luggage
"Were are we going mister" Noman asked
"Home" he proclaims with a wide smile