You scarcely have time to draw breath. There is only the bag clutched tight in your trembling arms—your burden, your lifeblood. You topple forward, nearly sprawled upon the unforgiving wooden planks of the floor, the hut close in around you. Your hands, splintered and raw, sting with every movement. Cold gnaws at your bones, as if winter’s cruel jaws have closed around you, intent on dragging you into oblivion. Yet none of this matters. Your thoughts circle solely around the sack you guard so fiercely.

The elf, swift and silent, discards his bandages to guide you nearer the crackling hearth. It feels an age before the fire’s warmth pierces your numb flesh. Oromis steps forward, arms extended, intending to relieve you of your ward. Instinctively, you withdraw, clutching your burden tighter. You have endured too much—walked too far, fought too hard. Survival and sacrifice have led you here. Inside that bag, magic ancient as stardust vibrates, a resonance older than time itself. It is a shimmering enigma, veiled in arcane currents that coil around something petrified, something that should have long since slipped beyond life’s border.

To your weary eyes, the shell within appears lifeless—hardened, brittle, timeworn. Lost, you think. Lost to the ages. Yet still, you cling to this folly, this desperate hope that has no right to exist. The elf observes you, solemn and compassionate, perceiving in your trembling grasp a chimera’s promise—an illusion born of despair. He can offer no solace, for some truths must be discovered on one’s own.

Crack.*

You and the elf stiffen instantly. Your heart falters.

Crack.*

The ancient spellwork unravels, the falsehood splintering away. At once, the treasure you sought is revealed—tangible, undeniable. A sudden stir passes through the elf and the great golden dragon beyond, both swinging their gaze toward the bag you cradle. Your arms shudder, overcome by an impossible realization. Hope and terror mingle in your throat as you fumble at the drawstring and peel back the cloth.

Crack, crack, break!*

All of creation seems to hold its breath. Nothing exists but those tiny amber eyes surrounded by a shimmer of green, peering through fractured shell, gazing straight into your soul. In that timeless instant, the world falls silent, as though the universe itself has paused to honour this miracle. Your hand extends, trembling, and you reach inside—heart in your throat—skin brushes his scales and your souls are cast together. Your life—will never be the same


This is the ref of my precious Dragon Caesar, a dragon I had envisioned just over 10 years ago. To him he is the reason I have forever been enamoured with dragons, born in a world of dragons and riders brought to life in Paolini's world. For a very long time I have wanted to bring his colours to life, to see his "Brows of Oak" and shining emerald scaled in the way I have always envisioned.
The origin of his name inspired by Coriolanus and the Roman wreath adorned the champions of Rome. Prideful, vain, powerful but yet masters of their time. As cliché of the name, I still felt it was a mighty good fit for a Dragon.

I want to thank  Tirol for his patience and helping me with the colours. Re-working it multiple times until it was just right. Even going out of his way to add little details and touches which just added the cherry on top.

So here he is, the precious green. Dangerous, cunning, vain and ever so dashing in his reptilian way - Caesar.