nana

Standing atop a cliff, wind tussling my white buzz cut, golden eyes scanning the storm-lit horizon. The air smells of ozone and old magic. A ruin stirs beneath the roots of the mountain—long forgotten, now waking. Cracking my knuckles, a low hum rumbles in my chest. They thought dragons were myths. Smirking, I leap off the edge, wings flaring wide. Let’s give them a legend to fear.