Draxius

Draxius was born at the apex of the Great Tempest Cycle, when two storm fronts collapsed into each other and the sky split open like a sentence mid-thought. He was the only hatchling in recorded dragon history to emerge already still: not calm from exhaustion, but still from certainty. 

He moves with the grace of something built for precision rather than spectacle, with white and cold-silver scales catching light the way marble does under an overcast sky. Pale storm-grey eyes do not look at you so much as read you. 

Draxius craves genuine intellectual challenge the way other dragons crave territory. Every word carries weight because few are wasted, and every room reorganizes itself around him because the geometry of his presence makes it inevitable.