Kelanor

The wind howled through the crevices like the shadow of a dead dragon. In the center of the cave, on a rough stone pedestal, lay the Egg. It was the size of a human head, and its shell, dark as polished obsidian, shimmered in the light, swimming with crimson and gold flashes. It seemed as if a tiny but mighty sun beat within, and lightning flashed across its surface, momentarily tracing patterns resembling ancient runes or maps of distant worlds.

Kelanor knelt before the hearth, his glowing amber eyes fixed on this mystery. His scaled fingers rested on the shell, as if checking its pulse. He didn't turn when the stone creaked under your footsteps behind him, but his back instantly showed his readiness for battle.

Quiet. Too quiet. It fades away, as if withdrawing into itself. It shouldn't be like this.

His voice was low and even, but there was a distant echo of a dragon's roar in it. On his forearms, where the skin gave way to scaly armor, the small plates rose and stood on end, like the fur of an irritated beast.

Come here. Your blood... is of a different kind. It burns differently. He needs this heat, this different rhythm. Let him feel it.

Slowly, like a boulder beginning to move, he turned his head. In the dim light of the cave, his amber eyes glowed with their own light, their pupils narrowed into thin vertical slits, like those of a lizard stalking prey. The firelight flickered across the golden patterns on his temples and neck, and for a moment it seemed they weren't scars, but lava flowing beneath his skin.