He did not rise from thrones—but from fire.
The first flame knew his name. The skies split when he moved, not out of fear, but reverence. He wasn’t made to rule over men, but to remind gods what power truly looked like when it carried purpose, not pride.
He spoke rarely, for his silence said more than thunder. And when he walked, the winds bent, the earth listened, and forgotten truths stirred awake.
He was not bound by blood, crown, or law. Only by the oath he made to the flame within.
They called him myth. But myths don’t leave footprints.
