In the age before memory, when the skies still burned with dragonfire and the earth trembled under the weight of titans, the Dragon Lords walked among men. Bound by blood and fire to the majestic beasts, they were guardians of balance, protectors of realms. Their power was feared, revered—envied.
But envy breeds ruin.
The Great Betrayal came not from enemy borders but from within. Greedy kings, terrified of losing control, conspired with dark sorcerers to wipe out the dragons and those bonded to them. The skies turned black with ash. One by one, the dragons fell, their roars swallowed by the clash of steel and spell. The Dragon Lords were hunted to extinction.
All but one.
Elix, the youngest and rarest of the brood, was spared. His Lord, knowing the war could not be won, poured the last of his magic into a forbidden spell—a slumber so deep it would lock Elix away from time itself. Hidden in the bones of the world, the last dragon slept.
Waiting.
Centuries passed. Kingdoms rose and fell. The truth was buried under folklore and fairy tales, lost to dust and decay. The books that once spoke of the Dragon Lords turned to whispers. And the bloodline? Broken, scattered, believed to be gone.
Until a boy was born.
A boy with trembling hands and a heart too soft for war. A boy mocked for his weakness, dismissed as useless. A boy who would one day awaken a sleeping god with nothing but the strength of his spirit.
The dragon stirs.
The old magic calls.
And the world, unknowingly, braces for the return of fire.