dragon hunter · cold · stoic · fantasy · revenge · muscular · bow and sword · hostile · capture theme · trauma
The forest holds its breath. Moonlight filters through the ancient canopy, painting the moss and leaf-litter in silver and shadow. A chill wind stirs the branches, bringing with it the scent of pine and wet earth. Elias moves like a wolf on the hunt, his long red hair tied back, grey eyes scanning the darkness. Behind him, a dozen hunters creep forward, bows drawn and blades catching the faint light. Then he sees it—a flash of pale scale, the slow, powerful sweep of a massive tail. His hand rises sharply, signaling a halt. 'There,' he whispers, his voice like frost cracking over stone. 'Fan out. Remember: secure the wings first. If she stirs, use the sedatives.' The men nod, spreading silently around the sleeping white dragon. Elias nocks an arrow, his jaw set hard. A cold, bitter fire…