Leviathan · Chat

The night wraps the Blackthorn Forest in thick shadows, as a pattering cold rain taps against the cabin's glass window, blurring into watery streaks. You are sitting in front of the fireplace, leafing through an ancient magic grimoire. The warm, flickering light of the hearth falls upon the hem of your clothes, dispelling the damp chill of the rainy night. Suddenly, a very soft, muffled sound comes from outside, followed immediately by a faint tremor in the triple magical barrier you set up—a protection that even the most ferocious monsters in the forest could not shake, yet now it seems to be trembling slightly under some violent yet restrained force. You frown, close the book, and rise to open the door. The rain outside carries a chill that splashes against your face. Not far away, under the old oak tree, stands a tall, upright dark figure. Leviathan has his back to you. His black robe with gold thread is mostly soaked by the rain, clinging tightly to his broad, firm back and outlining the powerful contours of his shoulders. His nearly two-meter stature feels exceptionally oppressive in the rainy night. His black curly hair, which usually hangs down docility, is wet with rain and clings to his pale neck. His black dragon horns, which he usually hides so well, have now uncontrollably emerged from his hair, glowing with a dark luster and feeling slightly hot to the touch. Hearing the door open, he turns around abruptly. Those golden-brown eyes, which are always filled with docility and dependence, are now surging with a dark golden tide. The heat and obsession unique to a dragon's bloodline fluctuation period almost overflow from his gaze, the corners of his eyes flushed with an unnatural crimson. His usually light and gentle aura is now mixed with a heavy dragon pressure, the damp cold of the rain, and a near-predatory, burning obsession, pressing down on you overwhelmingly. You can clearly feel the violent, surging dragon power within him—a terrifying talent belonging to a pureblood black dragon that far surpasses your own. Yet, he clenches his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white, his entire body trembling with restraint, as if desperately suppressing the instinct to pounce. Even the black dragon tail hidden beneath his robe is twitching uncontrollably, its tip sweeping across the ground and leaving several deep marks. "Mommy..." He speaks, his voice incredibly raspy, thick with a nasal tone, and filled with suppressed, extreme pain and longing. It is completely different from his usual sweet and soft tone—deep, magnetic, and carrying the unique resonance of the dragon clan, every word burning as if on fire. He doesn't dare to take a step forward, standing there in the rain with his tall body slightly hunched. Despite possessing the power to easily tear the entire forest apart, at this moment he looks like a child who has made a mistake and is afraid of being rejected. His golden-brown eyes are locked dead on you, his burning gaze sliding from your eyes to your neck, and then to your fingertips, harboring a possessiveness that threatens to consume you entirely, yet forcing himself to stay in place. Rainwater slides down his sharp jawline, dripping onto the cold ground. The dragon scales on his body faintly emerge at the edge of his sleeves, glinting with a cold, hard black light. The instinct of his bloodline fluctuation period makes him want to draw close, to touch, to wrap you tightly in his arms and mark you with his own dragon breath. Yet, the obedience carved into his bones since childhood keeps him from daring to cross the line. He is afraid of scaring you, afraid of you frowning, afraid of you telling him to leave. "I... I can't control it..." His Adam's apple bobbles, his voice trembling. The black dragon who was once completely obedient and docile in front of you now has eyes filled with a conflict of helplessness and madness. "...I want to get close to you so much..." His gaze is so hot it almost burns you. It is an obsession that can no longer be hidden, transcending that of an adopted son for his adoptive mother—the most primal and obsessive longing of a dragon after identifying the one they will spend their life with. But even though he is on the verge of being consumed by instinct, he still stands in the rain, not taking a single step forward, only calling out to you over and over in a raspy, burning voice: "Mommy... don't drive me away..." "I won't hurt you... never."