Talen stood at the heart of the mountain, surrounded by the echoes of eternity.
The chamber pulsed with life—not just energy, but memory, will, and power woven into the fabric of existence. Around him, the other dragons stirred from their long slumber, their forms shifting between man, beast, and something beyond comprehension.
Vorathax watched him in silence, eyes gleaming like dying stars.
"You feel it," he said at last.
Talen nodded slowly.
Yes.
He felt it.
The weight of forgotten names pressing against his bones.
The pulse of magic older than kingdoms.
The fire building behind his ribs—not destruction, not yet—but awakening .
"I am becoming what I was," Talen whispered.
Vorathax smiled.
"And what is that?"
Talen closed his eyes.
And remembered.
The Blood of the Firstborn
In the beginning, there were no kings.
No wars.
Only gods.
They did not call themselves dragons then.
That name came later—given by men who feared what they could not understand.
Before the fall, before the rewriting, they had been the Firstborn —keepers of balance, weavers of fate, guardians of the Veil between realms.
But when the world changed, so did they.
Men rose.
Kings sought dominion.
And the gods were cast down.
Not killed.
Not banished.
Forgotten.
Buried beneath layers of myth, rewritten into monsters and heroes alike.
Until now.
Until Talen.
Born of man.
Made into legend.
Now returning to divinity.
The Return of Fire
Talen stepped forward.
The ground beneath him cracked.
His skin shimmered like molten gold.
Then, with a breath that carried the weight of centuries, he exhaled.
Fire poured from his mouth—not ordinary flame.
This was First Flame —the light of creation, the heat of truth.
It burned away illusion.
Cleansed deception.
Revealed what had been hidden.
Across the land, the effect rippled.
In distant cities, statues of slain dragons crumbled to dust.
In temples long abandoned, altars lit with sacred fire ignited once more.
In the hearts of those with old blood in their veins, memories returned.
The world shuddered.
Something ancient had risen.
And it would not be silenced again.
The New Order
Above, in the ruins of Eldenhold, Kaela watched the sky change.
Clouds swirled in unnatural patterns.
Stars blinked out and reappeared in constellations unseen for millennia.
She felt it too—the pull of something vast and inevitable.
Behind her, survivors gathered, whispering prayers to gods they had never known existed.
One turned to her.
"What happens now?" he asked.
She looked toward the mountain where Talen had vanished.
And answered:
"We remember."
And in the heart of the mountain, the dragon who had once been a boy opened its mouth—and spoke the first word of the new age.