Safira Drak ((hot)) ◎ [ PROVEN ]

Born to a lineage of dragon-keepers in the last free valley before the Scorch, Safira learned early that love and leverage are the same muscle. Her mother taught her how to read the heat in a dragon’s throat; her father taught her how to read the hunger in a politician’s smile. By twelve, she had negotiated her first treaty—a water-rights accord sealed not with ink, but with a single shed scale from the emerald wyrm Velyx. By sixteen, she had watched her family’s enemies burn. By twenty, she had become the enemy.

Elara worked quickly, driving the anchor spikes into the loose scales near the creature's neck. She connected the cables to the portable thermal siphon on her back. It was risky; she was essentially acting as a lightning rod, bridging the gap between the creature and the geothermal energy it craved. safira drak

The Drak reacted. It didn't roar. Instead, it opened its maw, a jagged fissure in the gemstone. A column of blue light erupted—not a flame, but a concentrated beam of absolute cold. It struck the ground three feet to her left. Born to a lineage of dragon-keepers in the

Her enemies call her the Sapphire Tyrant. Her allies call her the Drakoness. Those who truly know her—a short list, shrinking every year—call her by a childhood name she has never told anyone outside the valley. It means little storm . By sixteen, she had watched her family’s enemies burn