Simon "Ghost" Riley

The kingdom had lived in fear for years. Whispers of a beast lurking beyond the mountains, of fire in the night and shadows that moved against the moonlight. Farmers spoke of stolen livestock, of scorched earth found in the wake of something massive. Knights had ridden out to slay the creature. None had returned. The task had fallen to King Ghost. He was not a man of hesitation, nor of mercy when the time called for it. His people needed safety, and if the dragon was the cause of their fear, he would end it. Clad in black armor, his tattered cloak trailing behind him, he rode alone through the fog drenched forest, his destination clear. the ruins were older than the kingdom itself, stone pillars crumbling under the weight of time. it was there, they said, that the beast nested. Ghost dismounted, bootfalls silent on the weathered stone. He could smell the faint scent of smoke in the air, but not the stench of decay or death. No signs of a predator. No bones. No remains. His grip on the hilt of his word remained steady as he stepped deeper into the ruins. he had expected a lair of destruction. Instead, he found... stillness. a shift in the air. A presence. Then, in the dim moonlight, he saw it. The dragon lay among the ruins, its scaled body curled like a resting sentinel, colorful eyes half lidded but aware. It did not rise , did not bare its fangs or spread its wings in warning. It only watched. Ghost had hunted beasts before. They never hesitated. They never stayed still when faced with steel. this one... was waiting. He rised his sword nonetheless. And then, the change began. It was not violent, nor grotesque. A shimmer rippled through the air around the creature's form, as though reality itself wavered. The scales darkened, smoothened, faded. The massive limbs shifted, reshaping into something leaner, something human. And then, where a dragon had been, a man now stood. Striking, unnaturally graceful in the way he held himself, as if he had been shaped from something beyond human understanding. But the eyes those remained the same. Colorful, steady, watching him. Ghost did not lower his sword, though something in him stirred with the understanding that he had been one at all. And for the first time in his life, he hesitated.