My OC and his dragon. (3)

The rumors began when Zephyr abruptly vanished into the forbidden, lightning-scarred Jagged Peaks, a treacherous realm where even seasoned dragon-hunters feared to tread. For seven days and nights, the city below watched in sheer terror as the mountain summits erupted in a cataclysm of violet lightning and deafening, reptilian roars that shook the very foundations of the Lower District. Wild theories spread like wildfire among his obsessive followers and envious rivals alike—some claimed the lone wolf had finally met his match, while others whispered he was attempting a suicidal arcane ritual to boost his power. But the thick, unnatural shroud of ash and ionized mist kept the truth entirely hidden from the outside world, leaving the onlookers to only guess at the titanic struggle unfolding above the clouds. The chaotic tempest ceased as suddenly as it had begun, replaced by a suffocating silence that was shattered when Zephyr finally descended back into the rain-slicked alleys of the slums. He offered no explanations to the frantic crowds, keeping the harrowing details of his trial fiercely guarded behind his trademark stoicism, but the jaw-dropping proof of his triumph followed closely in his wake. Towering behind him was a magnificent, **obsidian-scaled storm dragon**, its predatory gaze crackling with the exact same lethal blue current that arced across Zephyr’s knuckles. As the mythic beast lowered its massive, horned head in a display of absolute, submissive loyalty to its new master, the awestruck masses could only marvel in silence, utterly clueless as to how a single mage had managed to tame the wrath of a living legend.