Honestly, I’ve sketched it out more than once, picturing a silver‑scaled co‑pilot perched in the cargo bay, wing‑beats like a metronome keeping the night’s rhythm. The dragon would whisper ancient runes into the radio, and its breath would heat the engine room just enough to keep the turbine humming. Imagine the wind rushing past the cockpit like a lullaby, and the stars turning into a map the dragon can read in a single glance. It’s a dream that keeps me up at night, even if the idea sounds a little… absurd to those who don’t know the true lore of sky‑borne wyrms.