I approached the sleeping child slowly, my steps soft against the cool marble floor. The room was bathed in shadows, with only the faintest sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains. He lay curled into himself on the armchair, his small frame trembling with each shallow breath. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees, as though seeking comfort from a world that had offered him none.
His face, pale and drawn, was twisted in anguish. Even in sleep, he couldn't escape his torment. The soft rise and fall of his chest was punctuated by quiet, broken whimpers that tore at something deep inside me.
I crouched beside him, watching, listening. His lips moved, forming words too faint to hear at first. Then, like a whisper carried on the wind, his voice reached me.
"Help me… Help me… Lord Dragon... Please…"