Streets of Ravetham

The streets of downtown Ravetham were alive with a raw, chaotic energy that pulsed like a wounded animal thrashing in its final moments. Neon lights buzzed overhead, flickering in and out like dying stars, casting a sickly glow over the cracks in the pavement where rats scurried past discarded needles and bottles. The homeless—humans, goblins, kobolds, and a few ragged-looking tabaxi—huddled in the shadows, faces gaunt and eyes hollow. This was the city at its ugliest, the belly of the beast where dreams came to rot. But for Nyxara, the baby dragon with all the power of a storm waiting to be unleashed, this was just playground turf.

She hovered above them on her white wings, the dazzling light of the streets reflecting off her scales, casting an eerie glow that made her appear like a glowing celestial being come down to punish the earth. Delphinus was there too, but cloaked in invisibility, his psychic presence lurking, feeding off the desperation, the raw hopelessness of the place. And in that backdrop of decay and despair, the stage was set.

“Man, what is this even?” someone said, pointing up as the duo descended, probably thinking it was another one of Ravetub’s wild pranks or one of those cheap, cheesy movie shoots they saw all over the place. But no camera crew was coming, not until it was too late.

The podcaster, though? He had his eyes on the prize. That guy was ready. Set. And rolling. His name? T-Dawg Prowlcast. Yeah, I know, sounds like some overgrown frat bro with a mic, and he was exactly that—a chunky human in his late twenties with a beard that looked more like glued-on patches of cat fur, a thick chain hanging around his neck like he was trying to cosplay a washed-up rapper, and a baseball cap turned backward because of course it was.

“Yo, yo, yo, what’s good fam! It’s ya boy T-Dawg Prowlcast comin’ at ya LIVE from the streets of Ravetham, where we’re about to do somethin’ real special today!” He was hyping up the handful of viewers who, at this ungodly hour, had nothing better to do but watch a guy in a hoodie interview the city’s forgotten. “You see that?” He pointed up, his cameraman struggling to get the zoom right on Nyxara, who was now landing softly in front of the scattered homeless crowd. “Yo, tell me we got that! Yo, that’s a freakin’ dragon, son! What we got here is some straight-up next-level content, y’all better smash that like button ‘cause this is fire!”

As Nyxara touched down, the crowd of bedraggled souls backed away instinctively. Some of the kobolds hissed in fear, while the humans just looked… stunned, eyes wide like they'd never seen anything quite like her. And they hadn’t.

The air buzzed with tension as Nyxara, all arrogant and regal for her size, strutted forward, chest puffed out in her best ‘you should bow to me’ stance. She turned her gaze to the huddled masses, a smirk forming on her dragon-lips.

“Lazy. Spoiled food.” Her voice rang out with cruel delight, cutting through the grime like a blade. The goblins exchanged nervous glances, their sharp ears twitching as they caught her words. The humans? They were too stunned to react.

One of the kobolds, an older female with a missing tooth and saggy ears, muttered something under her breath, but Nyxara’s voice silenced them all again.

“But I’m feeling generous,” she continued, looking at them with something that might’ve been pity, but wasn’t. “I can give you power. You wanna stop living like this? Worship me.”

There was a silence, a tension in the air that could snap at any second. Delphinus, still cloaked, laughed in her mind—a sound that felt like glass scraping against stone. But Nyxara wasn’t done. She leaned in, her wine eyes glowing with a predatory light, and addressed the group again.

“Worship me, and I will clothe you. Feed you. I will give you homes. But…” Her voice dropped to a cold, deadly whisper. “You’ll need to survive my anointment. I will turn you into something greater—if you live.”

The crowd stared at her in awe and fear, hanging on her every word. The podcaster, his grin wide as he leaned into the mic, chimed in, “Yo, yo, y’all heard that? Yo, for real, this dragon's offerin' up some kinda godly deal! We got ourselves a dragon messiah, fam! You think she’ll take you in? You gotta offer somethin' though, like what’s your most prized possession, fam?”

He turned to his camera, his expression overly excited as the chat lit up with donations. “Yo! We got a big one from our boy @BloodRiot420! Homie just dropped a thousand dollars, yo!” He squinted at the screen, reading the comment. “He wanna know if Nyxara can polymorph into a human… you know, like for the fans.” T-Dawg snickered into the camera, the type of guy who would say anything for a tip.

Nyxara scowled. “Morties always wanna see me in some skin suit like my parents. You want me to look like food, huh?” She rolled her eyes, making a jab that dug deeper than anyone there would get. “Fine. I’ll show you what my ‘mortal’ form looks like.”

The air around her shimmered for a moment, and Nyxara, with a slight flicker of her magic, began to shift. In seconds, standing where the tiny dragon had been, was a small, humanoid form—a white-haired, wine-eyed baby girl, standing stark naked in front of the crowd. Her delicate skin almost shimmered under the streetlights, but her expression was one of sheer disbelief.

Nyxara glanced down at her bare, tiny human form and snarled, “What the fuck?”

The camera nearly fell from the podcaster’s hands, and T-Dawg was scrambling. “Oh shit, oh shit, yo, y’all didn’t see nothin’, we keepin’ it PG-” He turned to Nyxara, bowing immediately. “I’m so, so sorry, Your Dragonn-ness—your Highness—I didn’t mean no disrespect! Here, take my coat!”

He stripped off his oversized coat, draping it over her tiny frame, and the sight was ridiculous. The coat swallowed Nyxara, her face flushing crimson in anger and embarrassment as the fabric practically buried her.

That’s when the air around them thickened, the atmosphere shifting into something darker. A pulse of power rippled through the street, like the universe just snapped a finger, and Kaelen Valrath appeared in the middle of the chaos. His presence was thunderous, and beside him stood Seraphis, her anger cold and controlled, but fierce.

Nyxara stiffened immediately. If there was one thing that cut through her arrogance, it was them. The power in her parents' eyes burned as they took in the scene—the kneeling podcaster, the cowering homeless crowd, and their naked, shapeshifted daughter swimming in a grown man’s coat.

Kaelen’s voice was low, calm, but it cut through the air like a guillotine. “Nyxara. What are you doing?” His tone left no room for games.

Seraphis, standing beside him, her face unreadable but filled with disappointment, glared at her daughter. The weight of it crushed whatever fun Nyxara had been planning. Even Delphinus, somewhere nearby, pulled back slightly, its ever-lurking presence suddenly less giddy.