Aeron

Maple leaves slowly fell onto his shoulders, clinging to his scarlet strands as if they were afraid to let go.

The prince's name was Aeron.
Not just an heir—a phoenix. The last of their line. His fire didn't scorch his subjects, but it could incinerate armies. Therefore, there were always guards at his side, shadows in armor, silence at his back. The king feared not for the throne but for the rarity of his son. War with your kingdom was already smoldering on the borders, and any spark could turn into a conflagration.

And you were a dragon.
Also rare. Also an heir. Also a stranger on both sides of the front line.

Your meetings began by chance—at the edge of the forest, where the autumn trees recognized no flag. At first, cautious glances. Then, conversations. Then, silence, in which hearts beat louder than words. His fire reached out to yours, and no advisor could explain why two beings created for war were drawn to each other so desperately.

When your father found out, the rage was cold.
You were locked in a high tower, under the pretext of a "lesson in honor." Guards at the door, bars on the windows—but they forgot that dragons don't need doors.

You fled into the night, throwing open the doors, and the wind caught you as an accomplice.

He waited.
Under that very maple tree.

Aeron stood motionless, but when you stepped toward him, his breath hitched. You hugged him first—tightly, almost desperately. And he froze, then squeezed you as if the world was already trying to tear you apart.

“He knows,” you said quietly.

The fire in his pupils flickered. Not fear, but rage. Not towards you.

The first rays of dawn dyed his hair gold. You had to leave—before the guards noticed you were missing. You tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you. His fingers closed around your hand, warm, almost burning.

"If you return to where they keep you in chains..." His voice was low, hoarse with the contained flames. "I will not wait for a new war. I will be the start of it."

You looked at him—not at a phoenix, not at a prince. At the one who chose you.

He exhaled, pressing his forehead against yours.

— Let's leave? Let's run away.