Pryce watched as the storm dragon plummeted from the sky, its massive wings struggling against the violent winds. Each flap sent arcs of electric blue energy crackling through the storm, illuminating its dark scales that shimmered like the clouds above. Rain lashed at Pryce’s face, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes. He could barely see through the downpour, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.

The dragon's descent was far from graceful, a stark contrast to the creatures Pryce had read about in his books. It twisted and turned in midair, desperately trying to right itself against the storm. Pryce could see that the beast was gravely injured; one of its enormous wings hung at an awkward angle, and its roars were laced with agony.

"Look out!" Finnegan shouted, pulling Pryce back just as the dragon crashed into the village square. The old man swore under his breath.

The impact sent a shockwave through Crystal Shores, toppling carts and shattering windows. Pryce felt the ground tremble beneath his feet, the force nearly knocking him over. Debris flew through the air, and a cloud of dust rose, mingling with the rain. The air reeked of ozone, and somewhere nearby a child screamed.

Pryce grabbed Finnegan’s arm and pulled him toward the crash site. The storm had begun to subside, rain lessening to a drizzle, and the wind dying down to a whisper. The village square lay in ruins, splintered wood and shattered cobblestones strewn across the ground, but amidst the wreckage lay a sight that stole Pryce's breath away.

The young storm dragon sprawled on the ground, its scales glistening in shades of deep blue and silver. It panted heavily, each breath sending small sparks flickering around its nostrils like miniature lightning strikes. Its eyes were a piercing electric blue, filled with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"Stormwing," Pryce whispered, the name surfacing in his mind as if it had always been there.

Finnegan moved beside him. "Careful now," he warned, gripping his walking stick tightly. "A cornered dragon is dangerous, even a young one."

But Pryce felt no fear—only a strange connection to the creature before him, a pull in his chest like an invisible tether. He took a cautious step forward, his eyes never leaving Stormwing’s, his hand outstretched in a gesture of peace.

Around them, fearful Shorlings began to creep out of their homes. Armed with whatever they could grab—pitchforks, fishing spears, axes—they moved slowly toward the fallen dragon.

"Stay back!" Finnegan shouted at them, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "It's hurt and scared; don't provoke it!"

Pryce knelt down slowly, extending a hand toward Stormwing. "Hey there," he said softly. "We're not going to hurt you. You're safe now."

Stormwing’s eyes flickered toward him, and for a moment, they locked gazes. Pryce felt a jolt run through him—not of fear but of recognition, a deep sense of familiarity.

The villagers kept their distance, their whispers a low hum in the background as they watched Pryce inch closer to the dragon. He could feel their eyes on him. The rain had almost stopped now; only a light drizzle remained. Droplets clung to Stormwing's scales, making them shimmer in the light of the thinning clouds. Pryce marveled at the creature's beauty even in its weakened state.

Pryce could feel Stormwing's fear, the dragon's emotions pulsing through their newfound connection like a living current. This was his moment—a chance to prove his worth not through power or conquest but through compassion and understanding.

"Easy now," he whispered again, reaching out until his hand hovered just above Stormwing's injured wing. "We'll help you."

Pryce held his breath as Stormwing flinched at his touch, a low growl rumbling in its chest. The air around them crackled with energy, making the hair on Pryce's arms stand on end. He didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe, waiting for the dragon to accept his presence or unleash its fury.

"It's just a juvenile," Finnegan said beside him, his voice low so as not to startle the beast. "Inexperience got it caught in the storm."

Pryce nodded, his gaze fixed on Stormwing. He felt an odd sense of kinship with the creature, as if they were both struggling to find their place in a world that often seemed too harsh.

Pryce tore his gaze away from Stormwing to glance at the gathering crowd. Fear painted their faces—fear and something else. Anger? Resentment? He couldn't be sure, but a wave of hostility seemed to emanate from them, directed at him and his dragon.

Whispers rippled through the crowd, growing louder, more frantic. "What do we do?" "It's a monster!" "We should kill it!"

Pryce wanted to make them understand that the dragon wasn't a threat.

"We should kill it before it causes more trouble," a Shorling shouted from the back of the crowd. The man’s voice was tinged with panic, and he brandished a fishing spear. His eyes were wild, darting between Stormwing and the villagers as if looking for an excuse to act.

"He's right," another villager echoed, her voice trembling. She clutched a child close. "What if it brings more dragons? We can't risk it."

Pryce always known his fellow Shorlings feared dragons, but he'd never imagined they could be so quick to violence. He glanced at Finnegan for guidance, hoping the old man had a plan because he sure didn't.

Before either could react, some villagers began tossing fishing nets over the dragon to immobilize it. The coarse ropes entangled Stormwing's wings and legs, causing the dragon to thrash in pain. Sparks flew from its scales, and a low growl rumbled from its throat. Pryce felt every jerk and twitch as if it were his own body being bound.

"Stop!" Pryce yelled, stepping forward with his hands raised. "You're hurting him!"

"Stand back, boy!" the first man yelled, advancing with his spear. "This beast is dangerous!"

Pryce placed himself between Stormwing and the villagers. He spread his arms wide, trying to shield as much of the dragon as possible with his own body. "He's just scared! Look at him—he's not attacking us. Please, just give him a chance."

Finnegan stepped forward too. "Listen to the lad. Killing this dragon won't solve anything." As Finnegan spoke, Pryce noticed some of the villagers lowering their weapons.

The villagers hesitated. Pryce seized the moment of uncertainty to kneel beside Stormwing again. Once more, placing a hand on one of the dragon's tangled wings. Beneath the thick scales, he sensed a tremor run through the creature, a wave of fear and pain.

"We need to help him," Pryce said, looking up at the gathered Shorlings. "If we show him kindness, maybe he'll do the same for us. Isn't that what we've always believed in Crystal Shores? Helping those in need?"

For a moment, silence hung in the air as everyone waited for what would come next. Pryce could hear the lapping of waves against the shore and the distant cry of a gull, sounds that seemed oddly out of place in this tense standoff.

Then the villagers closed in on Stormwing. Without hesitation, he stepped forward again.

"Please," Pryce's voice cracked with urgency. "No! Don't kill it. It's just a baby. Can't you see?" He gestured towards Stormwing. "Look at him. He's scared, just like we are. We can't condemn him for simply existing. Please, give him a chance."

A burly fisherman scowled at Pryce. "Wounded dragons are dangerous, boy. We've seen what they can do. We'll use long spears to puncture its heart, it'll die quickly. It's the only way to be sure it won't turn on us when we least expect it, especially once it has grown."

Pryce locked eyes with Stormwing, seeing not a monster, but a frightened, injured being. "I can nurse it back to health. I can train dragons. I know what to do."

Finnegan hobbled closer, his eyes narrowed as he examined the dragon. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. "Its wing is broken, lad. That's hard to heal—like a horse with a broken leg. It might never fly again, even if it survives."

The villagers muttered among themselves. "It can't be healed," one man said, hefting a makeshift spear. "We need to end this now, before it becomes a threat to us all."

Ignoring the warning, Pryce reached out and gently petted Stormwing's snout. The dragon's scales felt cool and smooth under his fingers, like polished stone. Stormwing let out a low, rumbling purr as it calmed under Pryce's touch.

"Careful now, Pryce," Finnegan warned.

The crowd gasped in amazement at how Pryce managed to soothe the dragon. The dragon, once thrashing in pain and fear, now lay relatively still, responding to Pryce's gentle touch.

"See? I can calm it," Pryce said, turning to face the villagers. "Let me try to heal it."

Despite Pryce's efforts, the villagers continued to secure the dragon with nets, causing the dragon to whimper in pain.

Several men approached with long spears, their faces set in grim determination as they prepared to end Stormwing's life.

"You're not a dragon trainer, Pryce," one of the Shorlings called out. "You're just a fisherman's son. Know your place and step aside."

Pryce drew himself up to his full height, trying to project a confidence he didn't entirely feel. "I've been studying dragon training. I know how to do it. I've read every book I could find. Give me a chance to prove it! I'll train it to protect Crystal Shores and all of us."

Old Man Finnegan spoke up. "The boy has the touch. You all saw it. There's no denying it." He paused, then said, "A sapling denied sunlight will never grow into a mighty oak. We ought to give the boy his opportunity."

The men stood still, their spears wavering. For a moment, Pryce dared to hope. But then they began to move forward again. This was it. He had failed.