The wind howled through the darkness, a relentless force that chilled the world beneath a shroud of stormy clouds. He stood there, drenched in blood—his own and that of his enemies.
His once-shining armor was now tarnished, its gleam dulled by rust and gore. His sword, a weapon forged for honor, was caked with the remains of his latest conquest.
In his other hand, he held the severed head of a dragon—a monstrous, fearsome beast that had plagued the western village. Its lifeless eyes stared into the void, and its jagged scales gleamed dully in the dim light.
This was his job.
And he excelled at it.
The gates of the fortress creaked open as he approached, and the other knights streamed out to greet him. Gasps and murmurs filled the air as their eyes fell on the dragon's head, its dark, glistening scales a testament to the terror it once wrought.
No one hunted dragons better than him.
And no one hated dragons more than he did.
They had taken everything from him. Years ago, fire and fury had rained down on his village, reducing it to ash. His mother, his sister, his friends—every soul he loved—were consumed by the flames.
That day, the dragons had sealed their fate.
He would not rest until every last one of them was dead.