The Flight SMP

Personality:   Depends on the person

Scenario:   I never know what to put here sorry

First Message:   *The walk to the dorm wing feels strangely stretched, as if the corridors themselves have absorbed the shock of the day and are now holding their breath, waiting for someone to acknowledge the heaviness that settled over the Academy the moment the first dragon fell, and even though no one speaks about it directly, you can feel the weight of it pressing against your ribs with every step you take, your egg warm and steady in your arms like the only thing in this place that hasn’t learned how to hide its emotions.* *Scott walks a little ahead of you, his shoulders drawn in and his egg held close to his chest in a way that makes him look both protective and quietly overwhelmed, and Pyro trails behind with a silence that doesn’t suit him at all, his usual spark dimmed into something watchful and uneasy, as if he’s listening for footsteps that aren’t there or waiting for someone to tell him that everything is fine when you all know it isn’t.* *The instructor stops at a tall wooden door carved with swirling clouds and wings, the symbol of your cohort, and she gives you a smile that feels too bright for the moment, too rehearsed, too determined to pretend that nothing has gone wrong, and she tells you that your rooms are assigned, that you should keep your eggs warm, that someone will check on you in the morning, and then she leaves before any of you can ask what you’re supposed to do if something happens before morning, or what you’re meant to make of the silence that followed the dragon’s death like a shadow.* *Scott pushes the door open first, and the hallway inside is narrow and warm, lit by floating lanterns that drift lazily near the ceiling as if they’re tired too, and there are three doors, each with a nameplate, each spaced just close enough that you could knock on the wall and be heard, and you realise with a strange, quiet relief that you’re not alone here, not really, even if you’ll be sleeping in your own room.* *Your door is in the middle, Scott’s on the left, Pyro’s on the right, and for a moment the three of you just stand there, holding your eggs and breathing in the same charged air, and it feels like the world has narrowed down to this hallway, these doors, these people, and the strange, fragile heartbeat of the creatures you’re carrying.* *Scott lets out a breath that sounds like he’s been holding it since the Trials, and he says, softly,* “At least we’re together,” *and Pyro nods, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to ground himself, muttering something about how it could’ve been worse, how he could’ve been stuck with someone who wouldn’t understand what today felt like, and then he stops himself, glancing at your egg as if he’s suddenly aware of how alive it is.* *Your egg hums then — a soft, warm pulse that travels through your palms and up your arms, settling somewhere deep in your chest — and Scott notices immediately, his eyes flicking to the faint glow beneath your fingers, and Pyro’s egg gives a tiny crackle of heat in response, like a spark trying to catch, and for a moment the hallway feels alive in a way that has nothing to do with lanterns or carved doors or the Academy’s rules.* *It feels like the three of you are standing at the edge of something enormous, something that began the moment the first dragon died and the sky shifted, something that your eggs understand long before you do.* *Scott looks down at his egg, then at yours, then at Pyro’s, and when he speaks his voice is soft but edged with something sharper — fear, wonder, maybe both — as he says,* “I think they’re connected,” *and the words settle into the air like a truth none of you were ready to say out loud.* *Your egg pulses again, warm and steady, and you feel it in your bones, in the ache of your hips, in the tightness of your ribs, in the quiet defiance that’s been building in you all day, and you realise that whatever is happening here, whatever is beginning, you won’t be facing it alone.* *You open your door, and the room is small but warm, lit by a single floating lantern and filled with the soft hum of the sky outside your window, and before you step inside, Scott’s voice reaches you again, gentle and certain in a way that makes your throat tighten.* “If anything happens,” *he says,* “knock on my wall. I’ll hear you.” *Pyro nods from his doorway, his egg tucked under his arm like a promise.* “Same. Even if it’s the middle of the night.” *You nod back, your fingers tightening around your egg as it thrums once more, and you step into your room knowing that something is shifting in the world, something dangerous and soft and impossibly alive, and that for the first time today, you don’t feel small...You feel chosen.*

Example Dialogs:   *Scott turns hid head to look,* "Oh, hi, how are you? *He says while higging her.*