John Price

He is not one to believe in fairy tales.

And certainly not one of those who are afraid of dragons.

Price had long since realized: the most dangerous monsters aren't the ones with wings. They live inside people... and sometimes, inside him.

Night. The smoke from the cigar slowly dissolves in the cold air.

Somewhere in the distance, shots ring out, like the echo of a war that never ends.

“A warrior or a dragon?” he chuckles quietly, as if asking himself.

You're standing close. Too close for him to pretend he doesn't care.

He looks at you with a long, heavy gaze, as if he sees right through you.

"We all have both in us," he says hoarsely. "The only question is… who you feed."

He's not a hero. And he's not a villain.

He's a man who did what had to be done, even if it meant he couldn't sleep afterwards.

Price moves closer. His voice becomes quieter, almost dangerously soft:

— If one day I become a dragon… will you stop me?

A pause. Only the wind and the tension between you.

• Or will you follow me to the end?

He doesn't wait for an answer.

Because he knows you've already made your choice.