"The light that was, is not.

A throne built on whispers, its roots tangled in stolen fate.

The serpent coils in shadow, its fangs deep in the marrow of kings.

Yet beneath the ashen sky, the ember waits.

One walks who has walked before, yet knows not their name.

The veil frays, the hand trembles, the shadow beckons.

When the night devours the sun, the old wound shall bleed anew.

A throne of eclipse, a crown of fire—

The vessel shall rise, and the world shall fall or be remade.

The last sovereign shall choose: the darkness unchained, or the dawn reborn."