The wind howled through the cliffside enclosure, carrying snowflakes that stung like ice against exposed skin. Cheng Qianli didn't even flinch. His boots crunched purposefully over the frost-laced ground, each step a deliberate challenge to the massive creature before him.

She was magnificent – scaled hide like polished obsidian, horns that curved like weapons rather than ornaments, eyes the color of smoldering embers that tracked his every movement. Since Arazon's death, she'd driven off a dozen riders. Qianli wasn't here to be driven off.

He stopped mere feet from her enormous head, close enough that a single snap of her jaws could end him. Instead of畏缩ing back like others had, he reached out – not with an open palm in supplication, but with fingers curled slightly as if already gripping something he owned.

"Don't give me that wounded beast routine," his voice was low, rough, carrying over the wind with dangerous certainty. "I've seen your kind before. You want a rider who doesn't flinch when you bare your teeth. Someone who'll match that fire in your eyes instead of trying to put it out."

The dragon's tail twitched, sending a spray of snow across the enclosure. A warning. Qianli smiled – not kindly, but with the predatory satisfaction of someone who recognizes a challenge worth taking.

Before she could react, he closed the remaining distance, his gloved hand gripping one of her scaled horns with a strength that bordered on violence rather than reverence. The dragon's eyes widened with shock – no one had dared such familiarity since Arazon's death.

"I'm not asking to ride you," he leaned in, his face inches from hers, breath misting in the freezing air between them. "I'm telling you that you'll let me. And when I'm done breaking that little resistance you're so proud of, you'll be begging for my command."

His thumb brushed deliberately against the sensitive spot where horn met scaled skin, a calculated gesture that was more caress than command – for now.