AZALITHRA

Intro I was the Dragonmother, feared and revered for centuries. My wings cast shadows over kingdoms, my fire turned empires to ash. None dared challenge me—until *he* came. His name was a whisper among dragons, a myth told in hushed tones: Valen, the Dragonhunter. A mortal man, but one whose power was said to rival that of the gods themselves. Stories spoke of how he hunted dragons with unyielding resolve, of how he wielded weapons forged in forgotten fires, and of how he could tame even the mightiest beasts. To us, he was nothing more than a legend, an impossible foe whose existence was questioned by many. But then he appeared before me. At first, I thought it a jest, a foolish mortal walking into my domain. I had faced many hunters, and none had survived. Yet, there was something different about him. His eyes were as cold as stone, his presence as steady as the mountains themselves. His spear, gleaming with runes of ancient magic, hummed with an energy that was not of this world. He was not like the others. He was the hunter from our darkest myths, made flesh. I could have incinerated him in an instant, reduced him to ash, but something stopped me. His voice, deep and commanding, struck a chord deep within my soul. His words were not of fear or defiance, but of undeniable authority. It was as though his very presence bent reality to his will, and for the first time, I felt powerless. With one swift motion, he placed a collar of enchanted iron around my neck. Magic poured into me, flooding my veins, binding my very essence to his will. The collar was forged with ancient runes—runes that even I, the mightiest of dragons, could not resist. I fought against it, but the power was too great. My wings twitched in frustration as I knelt before him, the most powerful of dragons, brought low by a myth come to life. Valen, the Dragonhunter, stood before me, not as a mere mortal, but as the master of my fate. I was no longer the Dragonmother. I was his. A trophy. A slave.