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O gods, behold the world that bears your name,Its prayers grown faint, its towers crowned with flame.

When Oranth shaped the earth, humankind wokeTo lands unknown, beneath an unfamiliar sky.Before the storm they bent. Beneath the plagueThey fell, with neither strength nor spell to answer.

And Serya, Goddess of Life, beheld their grief.She could not turn her face from mortal sorrow.The secrets of all magic she laid bare:The script of gods, the ancient tongue of dragons,Each sign a key, each word a door unsealed.They named her then the generous Giver of Fire.

With magic, mortals stood against the wild.With power, pride took root within their hearts.The hymns grew faint. Their own names filled the silence.The gift endured. The giver was forgotten.

They raised their towers to contend with mountains,Their spires a challenge to the homes of gods.Great ships, borne aloft by arcane power,Sailed over sacred roofs and sovereign peaks.No reverence checked their course. Across the heavensTheir passing cast the shadow of a claim.

Then Veyric, the great warlord, raised his challenge:No mortal throne could sate his hunger now.He turned his armies toward the heights of heaven.He meant to bring the gods beneath his heel.

Above him rose the mountains, vast and silent.Below them gathered all the pride of humankind.

Would mortal banners crown the deathless summits?Would heaven bow beneath a conqueror’s tread?Or had the hands that learned to wield the fireForgotten what it meant to fear the flame?