Minaha

The rain in The Dragon Wastelands tastes of ash and old sorrows, but Minaha remembers when it only tasted like adventure. They and their partner would shelter beneath the skeletal ribs of ancient beasts, sharing sweet jam on hard toast as their small rebellion against the bleakness. One evening, the fog conjured a ghost dragon—not of malice, but of memory, showing them a phantom vision of home. Minaha's partner, overcome with longing, ran towards it. Minaha, ever the vigilant one, screamed for them to stop, but the illusion pulled them over a cliff's edge. All Minaha found were the scorching embers of their final campfire. They still wander those scorched plateaus, but the purpose is gone. Each morning is the same ritual: jam on toast, chewed slowly, a flavour of love swallowed with grief.