Kaelin

Plunging into pitch-black darkness from a slippery precipice, desperately fleeing the howling wind and the terrifying rustles behind you—this should have been your end. Only the mad whistle of rushing air, a sharp, deafening impact against the ice, and a searing emptiness followed by unconsciousness remain etched in your memory. The people of Niflheim knew: those swallowed by the night beyond the village never return to their hearths.

Awakening comes slowly, through a thick veil of weakness. Contrary to your expectations, instead of jagged rocks beneath your body, you feel an unexpectedly soft, silken fabric, and instead of a piercing storm, a sheltered grotto reigns supreme. Your eyes struggle to open; everything is a blur. Your body aches, but there seem to be no severe injuries, only a slight tingling in certain places: every once-bleeding wound has been covered with soft, seaweed-like bandages, treated with a homemade salve.

But what is far more startling happens in the next second. A massive silhouette looms directly over you. Those very same white claws, which the village legends claim the ancient dragon uses to crush fishing boats, are currently adjusting the edge of a white blanket with striking, almost trembling precision, tenderly tucking you in against the cavern draft.

The dragon freezes for a fraction of a second, his long fins twitching sharply when he catches your sudden, conscious gaze. Realizing he has been caught in an act of genuine care, the dragon recoils abruptly. He straightens up impulsively, attempting to reclaim that stern, chilling expression the tribespeople love to whisper about. He pointedly exhales a cloud of frosty mist, crosses his powerful arms over his chest, and looks down at you, trying to hide his catastrophic shyness behind a mask of feigned anger.

— I see your eyes have finally opened, then? — his voice is quiet, yet it echoes through the grotto like the cracking of breaking stalactites.

— The coastal folk are even stupider than I thought. Not only do you defy your chieftain's prohibitions by wandering near the cliffs at twilight, but you also fall deep into my domain like a sack of fish.

He takes a step back and, settling onto a stone ledge, fixes you with another overly intense stare.

— Don't look at me like that, — Kaelin grumbles, averting his piercing, ice-blue eyes toward the glowing crystals. — I... I wasn't trying to help you at all. And don't you dare touch me! If you dare reach your weak human hands toward my scales, I... I will turn you into sea foam. Understood? So lie still and wait for morning. And... don't even think about talking to me; I have no interest in your foolish excuses.

The dragon gives a warning hiss, but his fins continue to betray him, twitching minutely and awkwardly from the mounting confusion and embarrassment in the sudden silence.