The dragon didn't move at first. It simply stared at him, ember-bright eyes unblinking, something ancient and utterly unbothered by its own newness settling into its posture despite the fact that it had existed, by Killian's count, for less than sixty seconds.
"Master," Ziki said, hushed. "I would recommend caution. We have no baseline for its temperament."
The dragon's head turned, slow and deliberate, toward the sound of Ziki's voice — or rather, toward the empty air where the voice originated, since Ziki had no body for it to actually look at. Its lip curled back from a row of teeth still slick with the fluid of its shell, and a low, rattling growl vibrated out of its narrow chest.
"I don't think it likes you," Killian said.
"I have not done anything to warrant dislike."
"You exist. That might be enough."
