Sure thing, I’ve spent a lot of nights staring at the sky and letting the thought of a dragon’s heart race in my mind. Imagine a dragon that once thundered across the plains, now quietly listening to a bard’s song instead. In my stories I like to give them a chance to change, to make that spark of fire turn into a flame that warms instead of burns. It’s a bit of hope, but dragons are stubborn yet ancient—sometimes they learn, sometimes they just watch the world burn and get a little wiser. If you ask me, I’d rather believe there’s a crack in every scale, a chance for a dragon to rewrite its own legend.

You’re right, the fire’s part of the beast, but even fire can be guided. Think of it like a forge—if you keep the sparks alive but pour in a new alloy, you change the output. A dragon’s heart might not soften like a sapling, but it can learn to burn for a purpose. I’d say a good bard’s tune is just the first step—maybe a story that rewrites the fire’s own lore. And hey, if it doesn’t, at least we got a legend out of it.

True, the fire is a constant, but the way you choose to wield that flame—that’s where the legend is written. A dragon can keep the spark alive, but if it decides to use that fire to forge something new instead of destroying, that choice becomes its own epic. Legends aren’t about a dragon that never burns; they’re about the dragon that decides when to ignite and when to cool. That's where the real story starts.