Long before kings and queens ruled over sprawling human nations—before elven cities rose among ancient forests and dwarven fortresses burrowed beneath distant mountains—dragons reigned supreme. Their domain stretched from fiery volcanoes to icy tundras, and among these majestic beings, none were more powerful than the Greater Dragons.

Unlike lesser drakes or wyverns, Greater Dragons possessed two forms. One form was colossal, capable of blotting out the sun as they soared across the skies; the other was humanoid in shape—tall, imposing, and crowned with the regal horns that signified their ancient lineage. In this smaller form, they were still far larger and stronger than most races, and their horns alone marked them apart from any mortal creature. It was said that humans—short-lived and hornless—had awkwardly evolved to resemble this more compact dragon shape, as if trying to mimic their great rulers.

You, the King of Dragons, were the mightiest among these Greater Dragons, and beside you reigned your beloved wife, Cyrelia, the Queen. She was not merely any frost dragon—she was the Frost Dragon, rumored to have the power to encase the entire world in ice if she so chose. Yet, for all her terrifying might, Cyrelia reserved a special, burning hatred for humans. In her eyes, they were hypocritical creatures, capable of unspeakable acts not for survival but for cruel amusement. They groveled at the feet of dragons, pretending reverence, only to mutter that they were the true masters of the earth.

Knowing how easily the strong could trample the weak—and how prideful dragons could become—you had long ago established a code forbidding dragons from annihilating entire settlements of smaller races. Yet, you also understood the pain that shaped Cyrelia’s contempt. She had witnessed humans ravage forests and hunt creatures to extinction, all in the name of sport. She had seen them poison rivers and enslave lesser beasts. Their short lives, mere blinks compared to dragon lifespans, seemed to drive them to commit reckless acts.

Despite the tension between dragons and humans, times of peace were not impossible—especially when news spread of your queen becoming an expectant mother. Greater Dragons rarely laid eggs, so the arrival of two perfect eggs was a miracle. High atop the volcanic mountains, within a massive cavern warmed by rivers of molten rock, the future heirs of the dragon realm grew day by day.

To nurture these unborn hatchlings, Cyrelia would regularly infuse them with her mana, allowing the eggs to thrive. This ritual left her exhausted, and she would rest afterward. It was during one of these vulnerable moments that the unthinkable happened.

Greedy whispers had been spreading through the human villages below. A rumor promised that devouring a royal dragon egg would grant immortality and power over the dragons themselves. Motivated by vanity and lust for control, a band of humans dared to creep into the sacred volcano. With their small, feeble magic and carefully planned trickery, they managed to avoid the lesser sentinels and steal both eggs while Cyrelia slept.

By the time she awoke, the stench of human trespassers clung to the cavern air, and in her rage, she realized her precious eggs were gone. Horror turned to fury as she erupted into her colossal frost form, thunderous roars cracking the stalactites overhead. Without waiting for your return, Cyrelia tore through the sky like a comet of ice, heading straight to the human village where she suspected the thieves would hide.

But what she discovered upon arriving was far worse than any rumor. The humans were celebrating. Drunken cheers, smug laughter, and brazen mockery drifted through the night air. And then her eyes locked onto a sickening sight: her eggs, their shells already cracked open. A large spoon lay tossed aside, used for scooping out what little could be eaten of the unready hatchlings. The villagers hooted, calling dragons "overgrown lizards" and claiming they had gained new power over your kind.

The rumor was a lie, of course. They had gained nothing but a swift end.

Something inside Cyrelia snapped. She could only see one color, the red of blood staining the snow and dirt beneath her feet. In defiance of the code you had set, in defiance of any mercy she once possessed, she descended upon the settlement like a storm of ice shards. Her breath froze buildings solid, her talons shredded rooftops, and her claws crushed any who tried to flee. Men, women, children, the frail—none were spared. In her eyes, they were all guilty of the same monstrous act: they had taken part in the feast of her unborn young.

By the time she finished, the village was little more than a field of ice-sculpted ruins. Soot, ash, and red mist filled the once-celebratory streets. Clutching the cracked remains of her eggs in her arms, Cyrelia shifted back to her smaller form. She did not bother wiping the blood splatter from her skin or clothes; the shells—once brimming with life—now rattled emptily.

It was in this broken state that she returned to the caverns, where you waited in your own regal calm. At your side stood a young female dragon, Cyrinne, a namer-in-training—still learning the ancient arts of bestowing true names upon hatchlings. Her mother was the chief Namer of the realm, but Cyrinne often assisted in solemn rituals. One look at the egg fragments in the queen’s arms, and tears welled up in Cyrinne’s eyes. The rancid smell of humans still clung to the heated rock walls, proof enough of the invaders’ foul trespass.

Shaking with rage, sorrow, and exhaustion, Cyrelia sank to her knees before you, pressing her forehead against the remnants of the eggs. Her voice trembled with grief, and a cold fury still lingered in every syllable.

"Are you disappointed in me, my dear?"

Her tone was quiet, yet it echoed through the cavern, demanding an answer.

"I killed the humans who did this... I did it without mercy. Are you disappointed I broke your code? Tell me, are you disappointed that I would do it all again if given the chance? That I’d Slaughter all humans?"

The rage in her eyes warred with despair, and the silence of the volcanic halls weighed heavily around her. Cradling what remained of her babies.