The silence of Eidryn was never hollow. It was a silence filled with waiting. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm—not of destruction, but of purpose.
Luke stood alone again within the Foundation Plane, though the echo of Aion's presence remained. His first child, the Titan of Balance, had taken root in Kairon, stabilizing the realms with serene exactness. Yet the Void beyond had begun to shift once more. This time, it did not tremble in fear—but in anticipation.
The Codex of Origin hovered before Luke, its newest page shimmering with threads of red, blue, green, and silver—fluid, flickering, refusing to sit still.
Aion was the fulcrum. Now I must shape the motion. The flow. The breath of change.
Creation had balance now, yes—but it lacked passion, transformation, form born from flux. Luke needed more than structure.
He needed wildness.
And the Flame within him burned in agreement.
He turned toward the Core Plane—his inner forge, the reservoir of raw potential—and descended through the layered planes of Eidryn, passing through stilllight and flowing geometry until he reached the heart.
Inside the Core, reality was molten thought and vaporized truth. Here, the laws bent to his breath.
Luke stood at the center and called the Codex into his hands.
The page had already prepared itself.
It bore a name, written in spiraling glyphs of fire, wind, stone, and tide:
Velkarion.
The Dragon God of Elements.
Luke's hand hovered over the page.
I will not create him from silence. He must be born of clash. Of storm. Of hunger and harmony alike.
He raised his arms.
And the Four Pillars of Elemental Law responded.
The Forging of Elemental Law
One by one, Luke shaped them—not from the Void, but from the deep truths within the Codex and the Core.
Ignis — the Law of Flame Red spirals of heat gathered. Not destruction, but transformation. Flame that consumed not to erase, but to renew.
Aeris — the Law of Air Winds that whispered and roared, carrying thoughts, shifting movement, birth of speech and travel.
Terran — the Law of Stone Stability and resistance. The weight beneath the feet. Matter with memory.
Hydros — the Law of Water The flowing truth. The cycle. Connection, healing, and entropy together.
He did not just shape them. He sang them into being—not with voice, but with resonance, drawing from the First Flame and the stillpoint of Balance.
The four laws swirled around him, colliding and reforming. Not perfectly. Not peacefully.
Good, Luke thought. He must be born from this struggle. His nature must not be passive—it must command.
The Womb of Flame and Storm
Luke reached into the Core and began to sculpt the Womb of Flame and Storm, a vast sphere bound by all four elemental forces. The interior swirled with raw chaos—storms that screamed, fires that laughed, oceans that boiled in the sky.
At the center of this cacophony, Luke placed a seed—an orb of radiant, pulsing force. Not harmony. Not order. Instinct. Drive. Power. The desire to act, to shape, to devour and define.
He fed it with light from the Codex, bound it with Balance from Aion's legacy, and surrounded it with threads of every law that had been born thus far.
He whispered the Name:
"Velkarion."
And the Womb exploded.
The Awakening
From the collapse of the Womb, something immense emerged—cloaked in smoke, wreathed in flame, dripping with sea and stone. A formless being roared into existence: scales of obsidian and starfire, wings of thunderclouds, eyes like boiling storms.
The First Dragon had come.
Not a beast. Not a brute. But a god made flesh in the image of change itself.
He coiled through the Core Plane, body too large for even Eidryn's vastness to contain. His roar shattered silence, and yet it did not bring chaos—it brought definition to chaos.
Everywhere his voice touched, the elemental laws snapped tighter.
The wind began to spin.
The flame began to hunger.
The waters surged and pulled.
The stone began to listen.
Luke hovered before the great being, his face bathed in firelight and salt wind.
"Velkarion," he said. "Do you know who you are?"
The Dragon-God slowly coiled downward, reducing his form—condensing it, like a storm becoming a man.
And then he stood.
Towering, humanoid, yet still draconic—long horns curled from his temples, scales ran down his arms like armor, and his eyes held the dance of every element.
He spoke, his voice a deep grind of mountain and thunder:
"I am the flame that moves. The breath that consumes. The tide that climbs. The stone that remembers."
"You are the elements given thought," Luke said. "Not to serve, but to burn paths forward. You are creation's wild pulse."
Velkarion tilted his head, as if tasting the truth behind the words.
"Why was I made?"
Luke smiled. "Because without change, Balance becomes a prison. Without fire, law turns cold. Without wind, structure rots. Without stone, flight has no anchor. And without water… life cannot grow."
Velkarion lowered his gaze, solemn. "Then I am the breath of creation. The storm between stillness."
Luke nodded. "And you are mine. Not by chains. But by will and love. You are my son, Velkarion."
A moment passed.
Then, the dragon god knelt.
Not in submission—but in acknowledgment.
"Then I will shape, as you shaped me."
The Shaping of the Elemental Plane
Luke extended a hand toward the edge of Eidryn.
Velkarion followed his gaze.
Now go. Shape a realm of your own. Let your breath craft the world of force and flow.
Velkarion rose and leapt into the sky.
Where his wings beat, firestorms danced. Where his tail swept, the Void parted. He passed through the Veil, and in his wake, a great rippling surge bloomed—a new plane born from collision and will.
It roared into being:
Varkael, Realm of Elemental Fury.
A world of floating archipelagos, oceans that crashed upward, volcanoes that sang with wind, and skies filled with lightning serpents. It was not peaceful—it was alive, pulsing with elemental law.
There were no mortals there. Not yet.
But Luke could feel them stirring in the future. Races that would rise from flame, wind, stone, and tide. Dragons, certainly—but also beings who would walk the elements as tools and birthrights.
And at the center of it all, in a storm-wrapped palace atop a spinning mountain of fire and water, stood Velkarion, roaring commands into the forming skies.
"Let this realm move! Let it burn with truth!"
He was not just the Dragon God.
He was the Will of Elements.
Luke, Alone Again
Luke returned to the Foundation Plane, feeling the distance of his two children.
Aion, the stillness.
Velkarion, the surge.
The two would not always agree. That was by design.
But between them, reality would breathe.
Luke sat upon the Arc-Spire, a pillar at the center of Eidryn's main plane. He watched the Codex turn another page—no longer by his will alone, but because the world itself hungered for more.
This time, the glyphs came as twins.
Entwined.
White and black.
Life and Death.
He touched the page and saw two lights spark in the distance—one soft and golden like a newborn's breath, the other cold and elegant like moonlight over a still lake.
The next are coming…
Liora – Goddess of Life.Kael – God of Death.
They would not be rivals. They would not be enemies.
They would be inevitable.
Luke rose.
He had forged the pulse. The shape. The flame. The breath.
Now it was time to tend the spark of mortality.