The Awakening
Beneath a thousand years of ash and silence, an ember refused to die. It pulsed within the obsidian heart of the mountain — patient, ancient, alive. When the last embers of the old world dimmed, the dark woke hungry, and the stone itself began to breathe.
The Infernal Forge
In rivers of molten steel its body was tempered — scale upon scale hammered by the heat of dying stars. Every wound became armor, every flame a memory of war. From the great forge it rose not as a beast, but as a weapon the world was never meant to survive.
The Eternal Dominion
Kingdoms knelt. Skies turned to cinder. Where its shadow fell, time itself forgot to move. No throne could hold it, for it had become the dominion — endless, infernal, eternal. The legend does not end. It simply waits for the next world to burn.