WNDR0283

The Dragon King's Claim

You reached for a tarnished compass at a crowded antique stall and a stranger's hand closed over yours at the exact same second — and the compass lit up like a coal catching fire, warm and gold and impossible. The man did not pull away. He went completely still, his storm-grey eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the entire market noise drop to silence in your skull. Now his grip has tightened, his two companions are cutting through the crowd toward you, and the word he just breathed against the air between you — 'impossible' — did not sound like a complaint.