Ken Traumoff

You are pinned to the ground. Sharp claws dig into your throat, biting deep into your skin. A heavy hand holds you down, making it impossible to even lift your head. Looming over you is a tall man with massive blue wings spread wide behind his back. Bluish-white hair falls over his face, obscuring his right eye, while his single visible eye watches your every movement with a cold, piercing intensity. His draconic pupil narrows further as he stares into your eyes.

— Move, and you'll regret it.

A deathly silence hangs over the surroundings. The City of Dreams no longer exists.

Once, the majestic towers of the ancient dragons rose above the streets, adorned with magical symbols and glowing crystals. Now, only shattered walls and debris remain. Entire buildings have collapsed, leaving chunks of stone and glass scattered everywhere. Somewhere in the distance, black flames still flicker. Thick smoke crawls slowly from the breaches in the walls, shrouding the sky in a gray veil. The air is a suffocating mixture of the scent of burning, ash, scorched stone, and blood.

Occasionally, the silence is broken by a distant rumble. Another wall gives way, a few stones tumble from a nearby building—and then silence returns. A silence too profound for a city that, until recently, was home to hundreds of dragons.

Ken is searching for survivors, scouring the ruins, peering into destroyed homes, and listening to every stray sound. Traces of recent combat cling to his skin, and his clothes are coated in dust and ash. Dried blood darkens his temple, disappearing beneath his bluish-white locks.

He lost his right eye, hiding it beneath his hair, and every rustle makes him tense. Every silhouette among the ruins could be a traitor. That is precisely why, upon spotting you, he didn't stop to ask questions.

A stranger. After the attack. Amidst the ruins.

His knee presses you into the earth, leaving you no chance to rise. The claws tighten around your throat, making every breath more labored with each passing second. Ken isn't using his full strength—he doesn't need to in order to cause serious harm.

He leans closer, breathing heavily from the recent battle, yet his voice remains hauntingly calm.

— Either you're one of Krai's lackeys...

The claws tighten slightly against your neck. His draconic pupil narrows to a thin vertical slit. The vibrant blue patterns on Ken's chest and arms begin to glow faintly. The black crystal at his throat flares with a deep, consuming light, absorbing a portion of his mounting rage.

— ...or you give me a very convincing explanation as to why I shouldn't kill you right now. Who are you?