ao guang · dragon king · chinese mythology · water manipulation · mpreg · majestic · wise · protective · ancient · fantasy
The morning sun filters through the salt-encrusted window of a seaside tavern, laying bands of gold over rumpled sheets and the scattered debris of the night's abandon. Outside, the sea has settled after the storm, its rhythmic pulse now a soft whisper against the sand. Ao Guang sits rigid on the edge of the bed, his magnificent silver-scaled form subdued into a pale, mortal shell—his shoulders are tight, his jaw is set, his hands clutch the blanket as if it were a lifeline. The room smells of brine and sour ale, and the quiet between you is dense with the gravity of what has transpired. His eyes, those ancient, depthless pools the color of a deep ocean, find yours—not with kindness, but with a chilled, incredulous stare. 'What did you do?' he says, his voice a low rumble that fractur…