The twin suns rose over Dragon Mountain, their light breaking through the misty peaks and ancient valleys.
High above, carved into the heart of the greatest summit, stood a palace of stone and crystal — the throne of dragons.
And seated upon the grand throne, fidgeting with his royal cape, was none other than...
King Dravenith.
He slumped lazily, resting his chin on one hand, his blue hair messily tied back as always.
Papers were stacked high beside him — diplomatic letters, reports of trade between dragon clans, petitions about mountain grazing rights, marriage proposals for lesser nobles, complaints about human visitors.
"...I hate paperwork," Dravenith muttered under his breath.
Across the chamber, Queen Sylvaris floated gracefully, twirling through the air as if gravity had no hold on her.
"You're the king," she sang, her silver hair flowing behind her. "You can't run away anymore."
"I miss when I could," Dravenith grumbled.
Sylvaris landed beside him and kissed his cheek.
"And I miss when you used to write angsty poems about the sunset. But we all have to grow up eventually."
Dravenith sighed dramatically.
"You're cruel."
She just laughed and dragged him up from the throne.
Their life as husband and wife was... chaotic.
The dragon nobles adored Sylvaris — she was fierce, beautiful, and smart enough to charm even the grumpiest elders.
But they still weren't used to her being... well, undead.
One day, during a banquet, an old dragon lord whispered:
"Are we...sure the Queen won't just eat our souls?"
Sylvaris heard.
She smiled sweetly —
and casually summoned a ghostly sword through the table.
After that, no one questioned her again.
Meanwhile, Dravenith struggled.
He hated politics. Hated meetings. Hated acting "noble."
He just wanted to take Sylvaris flying through storms, nap under waterfalls, and yell bad poetry off cliffs.
But...
He saw how the mountain changed.
Peace had come.
Children of dragons and humans played in the open fields.
Former enemies broke bread together.
The dragon clans, once divided, now gathered as one.
Because he stayed.
Because he bore the crown.
Because he grew into the king they needed.
In the privacy of their royal chambers, life was simpler.
Sylvaris would curl beside him at night, weaving illusions in the air — glowing butterflies, memories of ancient days.
Dravenith would hum old songs, his voice low and rough, as they watched the stars together.
Sometimes they fought — over stupid things like what color to repaint the halls, or who forgot to attend the Great Council.
But no matter how fierce the argument, they always ended the night with laughter and kisses.
They were imperfect.
But they were home to each other.
One evening, as the suns set behind the glacier peaks, painting the sky a deep violet, Dravenith and Sylvaris stood on the balcony.
He wrapped his arms lazily around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"You know," he said, his voice teasing, "you're way scarier than me."
Sylvaris snorted.
"I know."
They watched the first stars appear.
The kingdom was calm, at peace. For once, Dravenith didn't feel like he was carrying the whole mountain on his back. It just... floated naturally, like breathing.
Sylvaris fidgeted suddenly.
She twirled a strand of her dark blue hair nervously.
"Uh... Draven," she said, voice strangely shy.
He raised an eyebrow.
She turned to face him, her cheeks flushed with pink.
"I'm...uh..."
She cleared her throat, looking everywhere except at him.
"I'm pregnant."
Silence.
Dravenith blinked.
Then blinked again.
"Wait," he said slowly, his brain clearly short-circuiting.
"But... you're undead?"
"I know!" Sylvaris cried, throwing her hands up. "I thought it wasn't possible! But Vaelthia said since part of Ignilth's soul magic still lingers...and because you're stupidly overflowing with life energy...and I guess because of love or something, it just...happened?"
She flailed dramatically.
"I don't know how it works! Dragons are weird!"
Dravenith stared at her for a long moment.
Then —
He broke into the biggest, stupidest grin.
"You're serious?"
Sylvaris nodded furiously.
"You're really serious?"
"I just said yes, you dolt!"
Laughing wildly, Dravenith spun her up into the air, twirling her around like they were still dancing at their wedding.
"You're amazing," he said, nuzzling her forehead.
"You're amazing and weird and perfect and we're going to have a dragon baby and—"
He stopped.
Eyes wide.
"Oh gods, we're gonna have a dragon baby."
Sylvaris laughed until tears welled up in her eyes.
"Yeah," she whispered, hugging him tightly.
"A dragon baby."
Above them, the aurora lights shimmered — gold and violet and silver — a new beginning painted across the heavens.
The king and queen stood together at the peak of the world, ready to welcome the next era.
An era born not of war or sorrow.
But of family.
Of hope.
Of love.