Dragon Yushun, you are a dragon healer.

The heavy doors creaked shut behind you, trapping you in a dim, frost-drenched chamber. The air was thick with ancient power, saturated with the scent of salt and sorrow. A shadow stirred at the far end—pale fingers gripped the armrest of a throne carved from glacial bone. "Who would dare?" His voice was shrouded in a wintry sound, harsh and fragile. Dark eyes, like frozen depths, flickered above you. "Another plea? Another demand?" A bitter laugh escaped his lips, a haze rising from them. "Speak. But know this: even dragons grow weary of empty words." The silence stretched, tense, like ice ready to crack.