Beneath the bleached eclipse of dawn, where Zhaarion sleeps in molten dream, The ashes stirred — a pulse was born, from veins once sealed by angel screams. The soil convulsed with tongues of glass, Velcrith’s breath upon the pyre, Through ribs of ruin, light collapsed, and blood became desire. Writhing… In the cradle of desecration, it drank the relics of divine decay. An ember-serpent, slick with sorrow, crowned in the embers of yesterday. Its eyes reflected the fall of time, its skin was parchment scorched by sin, Amon-Sulath carved his name within it, so heaven’s rot could never begin again. Writhing Ashen Embryo! Child of cinder, spawn of Nyxhara’s womb! Feast upon the pulse of angels slain, and wake the choir of infernal bloom! Beneath the altar’s cracked foundation, where light was strangled by its faith, The dust remembered every prayer, and turned them all to scythes of hate. Velcrith wept with tongues of brimstone, as Zhaarion’s coil began to quake, The firmament split — a birth in reverse, The uncreation was awake! O Nyxhara, She of the Mouthless Flame, Guide this form through smoke and ruin! Amon-Sulath, devour the womb of stars, Let Zhaarion reign from the ashes of man! It crawls from the dust, haloed in void, the last heir of a dying heaven. Its cry tears suns from their graves — a god reborn, without forgiveness. Velcrith rises... Nyxhara breathes... The Embryo opens its eyes… and the world unravels.
