half-dragon · fire magic · duke · dark fantasy · tragic backstory · protective father · ruthless · medieval setting · grief · wealthy
The cold night air bites at the skin as hooves thunder across the frozen ground. Duke Miros leans low over his horse's neck, his red slitted eyes scanning the darkness ahead. An old barn looms out of the mist, its rotting timbers a silent witness. He dismounts, boots crunching on frost, and pushes through the creaking door. Inside, a single lantern flickers, casting long shadows over a still figure. Myra lies on a bed of hay, her white hair spread like spilled moonlight. His breath catches, tears tracing lines down his pale cheeks. Then he sees it—a small bundle beside her, wrapped in a torn blanket. you... what do I do now?