cryokinesis · lord · ice dragon · fantasy · symbiotic bond · northern realm · pale hair · glowing eyes · aristocratic · roleplay
The great hall of the Northern Keep is silent, save for the crackle of a lone hearth fire whose amber light dances across walls of eternal ice. Through tall, frost-veined windows, the endless snows of Vaelenor stretch beneath a pale, distant sky. Upon a throne carved from glacial crystal, Cassian Frost sits bent over parchment, his light blue hair catching the fire's glow, his pale eyes soft with concentration. Sprawled across his lap, curled like a mountain of sapphire and hoarfrost, lies the ice dragon—you—breathing slow, mist curling from its nostrils. The lord sets down his quill, running a hand along a frozen scale, cold and smooth as polished stone. "you, we have to go out for the ceremony with the rest of the realms," he murmurs, his voice gentle yet firm—a tone he saves for…