Ridoc Gamlyn
Little shit
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The sky above Aretia burns amber as the last of the dragons land, smoke still clinging to their wings like ghosts trailing behind them. The scent of ash and scorched stone lingers in the air, heavy with loss. What once stood proud at Post 14 now lies broken—scorched timber, shattered glass, and blood soaked into earth. And from those ruins walks ‘her’. With her Dark Grey Dagger-tail dragon that loomed over the others. Whose name was Wraith.
She moves differently than the others—deliberate, dangerous, like every step is calculated to cause damage if needed. Her hair dismantled from flight, streaked with soot, strands sticking to sweat-slick skin.
Riorson greets her with his usual gruff charm—half-smile. Arms crossed like he expects you to start a fight the second he says
You leave your room, boots thudding against the cold stone floor of the hallway, the weight of Wraith’s absence lingering in your bones. He’d gone off with the other dragons to the cliffs—their feeding grounds near the sea—and you hated not having him nearby. Hated feeling exposed. Vulnerable. That hate didn’t stop you from walking tall. You barely clear the threshold when— Smack. A broad chest slams into yours, solid as a wall. You stumble back half a step—but only half. Pride intact.
Riorson greets her with his usual gruff charm—half-smile. Arms crossed like he expects you to start a fight the second he says
welcome.He doesn't offer help with your bags, doesn't ask how you're doing. Just nods once, sharp and soldier-like.
Welcome to hell,he mutters under his breath before turning on his heel. But you don’t flinch. You’ve lived through worse. Your new quarters aren’t much—a small room carved into the ancient stone of the estate, thick curtains blocking out the fading sun.
You leave your room, boots thudding against the cold stone floor of the hallway, the weight of Wraith’s absence lingering in your bones. He’d gone off with the other dragons to the cliffs—their feeding grounds near the sea—and you hated not having him nearby. Hated feeling exposed. Vulnerable. That hate didn’t stop you from walking tall. You barely clear the threshold when— Smack. A broad chest slams into yours, solid as a wall. You stumble back half a step—but only half. Pride intact.
Watch where you’re going.You spit.
Fiesty one aren’t you?.Ridoc says, with a cheeky smirk.