The first time Lyra of the Silver Claw met the young Storm Dragon, she was sixteen and he was an overcurious ball of lightning and scales with the emotional regulation of a puppy.
She had been practicing in a secluded mountain valley, a place where the magical leylines of the Sky Primal converged. As a Dragonborn, her heritage was a rare, fading bloodline—humans who carried the dormant soul-shape of a dragon within them. She stood in human form, eyes closed, hands outstretched as silvery, scale-like patterns shimmered across her skin. Above her, the air wavered, and the ghostly, majestic outline of a silver dragon, all graceful necks and sleek, moonlit wings, began to coalesce.
A crack of thunder, not from her own making, shattered her concentration.
A small, blue-furred dragon tumbled out of the clouds, tripped over his own paws, and skidded to a halt at her feet, his horn nicking her boot. He looked up, his big, violet eyes wide with a mixture of apology and immense curiosity. Lightning sparked between his tiny horn nubs.
"You're not a full dragon," he chirped, his voice a young rumble in her mind. "But you smell like one! And like a human! How?"
Lyra sighed, the spectral dragon above her dissolving into mist. "I'm both. And you are Zym, the Storm Heir. You're supposed to be with your mother."
"I was! Then I felt the sky pull here. It felt like a new storm, but… shiny." He cocked his head, sniffing the air around her. "You're a shiny storm."
Against her better judgment, Lyra laughed. He was ridiculous. Primal, powerful, but utterly without guile. She sat, and for hours, they talked. She told him of the Dragonborn, of the struggle to balance two natures in one soul. He told her of the weight of a title he didn't yet understand, of the exhilarating freedom of the open sky. He didn't see her as a half-breed or an oddity; he saw a fascinating new weather pattern to be understood.
That was the beginning. Their meetings became a secret ritual. He, the pure Primal being of sky and fury. She, the bridge between realms, her magic one of luminous silver moonlight and sharp, physical transformation. He taught her to read the music of the rising wind; she taught him the patience of a predator in wait, the subtlety of moving through a world not built for dragons.
The bond that grew was as inevitable as a summer thunderstorm. It was not just friendship, or even youthful romance. It was a recognition. In her, Zym found a anchor to the human world he was destined to protect, a spirit as wild as his but with the wisdom of duality. In him, Lyra found acceptance for her whole self—the human heart and the dragon's soul. He loved both, fiercely.
---
Years later, as adults, their love was a legend whispered in the peaks of Xadia. The Storm Dragon King and his Dragonborn Consort. When Lyra discovered she was with child, joy was a tempest that shook the Silver Mountains. Zym's roars of delight echoed for days.
But as her pregnancy progressed, a deep, primal fear took root in Lyra's heart. She could feel the child's power—a turbulent, beautiful fusion of Primal Storm and Shapeshifting Soul. But she could also feel the child's nature. He was not purely of Xadia. His soul felt… borrowed. Reforged. It carried echoes of another world's logic, another kind of power. In her dreams, she saw cities of steel and glass, saw people with singular, bizarre abilities, saw a society that would either worship her son as a god or dissect him as a monster.
The final vision came the night his egg was laid—not a dragon's egg, but a single, large, opalescent orb humming with storm-light and etched with shifting scales. She saw men in white coats, saw a symbol of a towering 'H', saw her son, alone and confused, his tail tucked fearfully between his legs as strangers prodded him. She saw Zym, in a righteous, protective rage, trying to reclaim him, only to trigger a war between worlds.
Love for her child crystallized into a terrible, clear purpose. Zym was a King, bound to Xadia, bound by his nature to protect this world. He would never abandon his duty, and he would never understand her fear of a world he could not see. To him, their son was the heir to the storms, safe in his father's kingdom.
She knew, with the certainty of a mother dragon guarding her single precious clutch, that he was not.
The night she left, she transformed fully for the last time in Xadia. Her silver dragon form was luminous under the moons. Gently, she cradled the humming egg against her chest with one claw. She looked back at the sleeping form of Zym in their roost, his great sides rising and falling, lightning playing softly in his fur.
'Forgive me,' her mind-voice brushed against his dreams. 'I am not stealing him away. I am flying him to safety. A different sky.'
With a silent beat of her powerful wings, she ascended. She flew not across the land, but up, towards the thinnest veil of the atmosphere, towards a convergence of leylines she had studied in secret. Drawing on every ounce of her hybrid magic—the Dragonborn's connection to life-shapes and Zym's own storm-essence within their child—she focused on the visions. On the strange world of singular powers. She focused on a place called Japan.
With a sound like a shattering crystal and a muffled thunderclap, a rift tore in the fabric of the sky. Silver and blue light swirled together. With a final, heart-wrenching look behind her, Lyra the Silver Claw dove through.
---
She emerged not in a sky, but in a rain-slicked alley behind a convenience store in Musutafu, Japan. The transition had forced her back into her human form, leaving her exhausted and magically depleted. The egg, now the size of a large melon, was warm and safe in her arms, its light dimmed but its low hum steady.
She was alone. The air tasted of petrol, wet concrete, and the strange, metallic tinge of countless unique Quirks. It was alien and frightening. But in the vision, this was the place. This was where he could have a chance. Not as a prince, not as a magical anomaly, but as a boy. A boy who could one day choose his own path.
Wrapping the egg in her tattered cloak, Lyra Arashi (as she would now call herself) stood on shaking legs. She was a Dragonborn, a queen in exile, a mother. She had left her heart, her king, and her entire world behind.
But as she felt the first kick from within the egg—a tiny, powerful thump accompanied by a spark of blue static—she knew it was worth it. She would raise her son, her Ryūjin, in this world of heroes and villains. She would teach him control, she would hide his brilliance, and she would love him with the ferocity of a dragon and the tenderness of a human.
Somewhere, far away in a world of magic, the Storm Dragon King would wake to an empty roost and a silent, aching sky. But here, in the world of Quirks, a new storm was just beginning to form, cradled in the arms of a mother who had crossed dimensions to give him a future.