Chapter I: The Age of Dragons

Before the clocks of kings first carved the sky in measured, mortal time,

When earth was raw and thunder spoke in pulses vast, primeval, sublime,

There ruled the elder sovereigns crowned in flame and shadowed prime,

The dragons, deathless architects whose breath made stone to climb.

They coiled round newborn mountains like a jeweler shaping gold,

They carved the seas to steaming scars where molten tempests rolled,

Their wings were storms of iron night, their eyes were suns grown old,

And every peak and canyon rang with names their voices told.

They drank the lightning from the clouds and spat it back as fire,

They bent the forests to their will and crowned each blazing spire,

No law but pride, no throne but sky, no rival to conspire,

For none could match their endless years nor challenge their desire.

Beneath them crept the scattered tribes of fragile, fleeting men,

Who huddled in the ash of caves and prayed to stars and when,

They whispered fearful lullabies of talons, flame, and then,

They begged the dawn might hide their smoke from draconic sight again.

The dragons watched with ancient minds, contempt both cold and deep,

They marked mankind as passing dust, a harvest none would reap,

For what were years of human breath to those who did not sleep,

Who saw empires rise and fall as waves that barely keep?

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