backstory-

I was raised out in the timberlands.

Not ‘cause I had to be—

but ‘cause I was drawn to the quiet, the wild, the mystery in it.

My folks, they called themselves hunters. Truth is, they rode the line closer to poachers than anything noble.

One day, their haul wasn’t hides or horns, but an egg. Big, heavy thing. They planned to raise it, just to bleed it out when the time was right.

Couldn’t stomach that.

So I took it.

And I ran.

I kept that egg warm, guarded it like kin. In time, it cracked open, and out came a beast with scales black and green, mean as sin and sharp as God’s own judgment. I named him Charlie, though the townsfolk started callin’ him Blacktooth on account of his taste for coal and ash.

Now, bein’ Blacktooth’s pa means I’ve gotta put food on the table and coin in my pocket. Which only leaves one road for a fella like me: adventure.

I reckon Ma and Pa are still huntin’ me down—

I stole their prize.

But if I hadn’t…

they’d have taken mine.