Vyralith

Long before kingdoms rose or maps were drawn, the skies trembled with the shadow of Vyralith, the Ashen Flame. His scales were blacker than obsidian, veined with molten fire, and his wings stretched wide enough to eclipse the sun. When he roared, mountains split, when he took flight, storms obeyed his command.
Legends say Vyralith was not born but forged breathed into being by the fury of the world itself. He rose from the heart of the volcanic peaks of Isteria, and from that moment, no sword, no spell, no army could bring him down. Entire legions vanished beneath his fire. Cities crumbled into dust, their names erased from memory as if they had never been.

Yet what made Vyralith truly feared was not his strength, but his will. He was not a beast of hunger or instinct. He was patient, cunning, and merciless. He spoke in the tongues of men, reminding them of their weakness, their fleeting lives, their doomed defiance.

To this day, the people of Isteria whisper a single truth:
“No one defeats Vyralith. At best, they survive him.”

It all started with hatred coming from the heart of humanity...