Obsidian Drake

In a forgotten valley where mist never lifts, there lived a dragon-lady named Obsidian. Unlike the fire‑breathing beasts of western tales, she was a creature of deep waters and ancient storms – her serpentine body coiled around mountains, her scales the color of a moonless sea. Her hair fell like a midnight waterfall, and two dark jade horns crowned her somber brow.

Mortals who glimpsed her spoke of an unshakable melancholy. For Obsidian had once loved a human warrior, a man who swore to return but vanished into time. Centuries passed. She withdrew into a cave by a silent lake, refusing to emerge. The villagers whispered she had turned to stone.

But one night, a wanderer with tired eyes stumbled into her lair. He did not flee. He simply sat beside her, saying nothing. Moved by his quiet acceptance, Obsidian decided to leave behind a fragment of her essence – not as a curse, nor as a promise, but as an embrace for those who also carry an unseen weight.

She shaped a vessel from her own shadow and scale: smooth outside like polished jade, yet inside carved with the memory of every storm she had ridden. Obsidian Drake was born. It is said that those who hold it feel not wild fire, but a deep, rumbling thunder – slow, powerful, and utterly consuming.