That sort of devotion was utterly addictive at every level. They craved it, even if they had never been the sort to actively seek it out. And hearing Gilmore utter those words sent a pleasant shiver of heat down their spine. Had the great Platinum Dragon anticipated emotions like this when he gave his children empathy? Had he expected them to fall so hard for beings with such a short lifespan? Did it matter if he had? To J'mon, it wouldn't have changed a thing one way or another. The simple act of feeling was enough and they would keep Gilmore beside them for as long as the gods allowed.
Yes, he belonged to them. And he was the most precious treasure they had.
J'mon smirked as Gilmore watched the steady transformation. It took effort to keep it in control, but not so much that it was exhausting or painful. There was always some element of the dragon within them - whether it was their black blood and twin hearts or simply the presence of heat. It was just a matter of reaching down and dragging it to the surface again. And it felt wonderful to have someone brush their fingers over their scales in such a reverent way.
"I am the protector of Ank'harel," they replied, "the soul of the desert. Born from heat and flame. You may have heard the stories of Devo'ssa. We are one and the same." It was all the explanation needed without explicitly saying dragon. And there was a mote of fear that after his recent experiences, Gilmore might have some trepidation around that word. But metallics and chromatics were immortal enemies. It may also bring him some comfort to know that they had an ancient brass dragon on their side in the wars yet to come.