Ethan braced himself against the darkness, feeling his mind whirl and twist as Lamphrey's recollections dragged him forward. Everything around him was black at first, a midnight void that stretched infinitely. Still, there was that burning glow in the distance—like a beacon flaring in the night. It was unnervingly bright, a fierce radiance that seared his vision whenever he tried to look directly at it. If his body had truly been there, in that realm, he was sure he would have shielded his eyes. Yet he couldn't turn away. It pulled him, relentless, insistent, until—

There. The scene coalesced around him, forming in a sudden rush of color and noise. The sky above was a lurid purple-orange swirl, a patchwork of storm clouds and intangible shapes that might have been the remnants of the Doctor's meddling or something older—far older. Beneath that churning sky, black mountains protruded from the earth like the broken bones of an ancient beast. The ground itself was scorched, riddled with obsidian-like shards that made every step treacherous.

He sensed, through Lamphrey's vantage, that she was older now than in the last memory—a young Tialax, no longer a swaddled hatchling, but still inexperienced, still trembling as she watched. All around her, Tialax gathered in clusters, fear etched into their slitted eyes. Their scaly arms clutched battered staves or broken swords, offerings of futile protection. Far off, the silhouettes of dragons circled the sky, their motions frantic, spurred on by something grim and unstoppable.

And at the center of all of it stood him: Karfangg. He was a majestic black silhouette against the dark clouds, wings stretched wide. Ethan felt the echo of Lamphrey's reverence fill his chest, warring with her fear. Karfangg's presence had always meant protection, a bulwark of living scale and flame. But something else was there—something that equaled or perhaps exceeded him in raw power.

The light was no longer far in the distance. It hovered there, shimmering around a figure that drifted with impossible grace before Karfangg. At first, Ethan couldn't make sense of it: a winged being, outlines wreathed in luminescence, wearing an expression that was neither wrathful nor kind. Pale hair streamed back in an ethereal wind, and armor glintedlike forged starlight. Then it dawned on him—this was Krea, the Angel of Kaedmon, the one who stood as the living avatar of the God's will.

Lamphrey's heart—his heart, in this dream—hammered so hard he felt it in every nerve. The Tialax behind them let outwhimpers. Some prostrated themselves on the scorched ground, not daring to watch. Yet Lamphrey looked on, transfixed by this meeting, by the hush that descended as Karfangg and the Angel faced each other.

"Karfangg," the young Tialax female—Lamphrey—whispered. Her voice rang thin and trembling over the hush.

The dragon stirred, letting out a low rumble that resonated across the land like distant thunder. At the same time, Krea lifted a sword that glowed as though fashioned from white-hot steel. A hush fell as the Angel's voice, impossibly loud yet strangely gentle, echoed across the broken landscape.

"Karfangg, child of another world, you have erred," the Angel pronounced. "You who once sought to spare humanity have become a scourge upon them. The Father of Time and Space, Kaedmon, sees this chaos. In the name of balance, I have come."

Ethan could only sense Karfangg's reaction: a ripple of deep sorrow tempered by a black anger, older than any mortal memory. The dragon reared his colossal head, jaws parting in a snarl. Plumes of inky smoke spiraled from his nostrils.

He spoke, his voice resonating more in the mind than in the ears: "Who are you to claim the right of judgment?" Flames sparked on his tongue, dancing across black teeth. "Wasn't it your God's world that pitted man and beast against each other in the first place?"

Krea's face remained impassive. The Angel's wings spread wider, each feather shimmering with an unearthly glow. "It is not my place to reason. It is my place to restore balance."

She lifted her sword and a torrent of flames spewed into life, dancing along the blade.

"I shall start with you."

Then it began. A flash of luminous steel as Krea surged forward, sword raised.

Karfangg roared, the sound so immense that Ethan felt Lamphrey's hands slam to her ears. The Tialax around her wailed and cringed, but they could not run—there was nowhere to run in those blasted wastes.

Krea's blade carved an arc in the swirling sky. Karfangg whipped his tail, black scales meeting holy steel in a shower of sparks. The shockwave of their clash flattened spires of rock and hurled Tialax to their knees. Ethan, forced to experience it all through Lamphrey's memory, felt the impact like a physical blow that rattled his bones.

Karfangg countered, exhaling a torrent of black flame that rushed at the Angel, devouring oxygen, turning the air into a vortex of scorching embers. The winged figure was lost in the inferno for a moment, but then emerged from the blaze, sword shining even brighter, hissing with holy power. The Angel swooped low, slashing at Karfangg's flank, drawing a line of crackling golden energy across obsidian scales. A hiss escaped the dragon's throat, thick drops of molten blood splashing to the earth. Ethan sensed Karfangg's pain—his rage—his unwavering conviction.

The ground shattered beneath their feet as the two continued their deadly dance. Every collision was accompanied by thunderclaps and bursts of bright fury. Karfangg's roars shook the cosmos, while Krea's unwavering calm exuded an inevitability that chilled Ethan to his core.

He can't win, Ethan thought, even as the memory forced him to watch, riveted, as Karfangg kept fighting. Because for Karfangg, the battle wasn't just about survival. It was about defiance. It was about refusing to yield to the inevitability of Kaedmon's Law.

So…familiar…

Above them, the storm raged. Black clouds twisted into vortexes, swirling with arcs of lightning. Karfangg seized an opening, smashing a clawed foreleg directly into Krea's midsection. The Angel cracked the surface of a distant mountainside upon impact, and the land quaked. But again, that radiant figure rose, wings unmarred, blade leveled in challenge.

The final blow came in a flash so swift that Ethan barely processed it. Karfangg thrust his colossal head forward, jaws parted for a final blast of flame—but Krea met him mid-lunge. A pillar of holy light condensed around the Angel's blade. Karfangg's black fire speared outward, colliding with that radiant beam. Then, as unstoppable as dawn itself, the Angel's light slashed down, cutting through the dragon's flame and biting deep into that scaled neck.

A blood-chilling roar exploded from Karfangg. For an eternal heartbeat, he hovered in place, black wings beating the air in stunned defiance. Then he collapsed, body folding in on itself, smashing into the ashen ground with enough force to open a fissure that radiated for miles. Dust and debris engulfed everything. Ethan heard the Tialax screaming, feltLamphrey's chest convulse with horror. She scrambled forward on trembling legs, arms outstretched.

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The dragon's eyes, still glowing faintly with that same defiant red, flickered over them. Karfangg's chest heaved once, a last rattling breath. Then the mighty onyx wings slumped, folding limply across the ravaged soil. From the corner of her eye—his eye—Ethan saw Krea lower the blade, expression still set in the same cool calm. No triumph, no pity. Merely the acceptance of one who was an instrument of a higher design.

Karfangg was dead. Ethan felt an overwhelming surge of sorrow. It flooded him so completely that he forgot for a moment that this was a memory, that it had happened centuries—perhaps millennia—before his own time. To Lamphrey, it was as if a God she adored—her guardian, her savior—had been torn away in a single stroke. It was her entire world shattering.

Darkness surged again, swallowing the scene. Ethan wanted to scream, to thrash, to demand that Lamphrey release him from this torment. But he couldn't. He was a passenger in her mind, dragged along for the journey that he'd chosen to undertake…

When the world reformed, it was different. Hot wind stung Ethan's face—Lamphrey's face. Grains of sand swirled in the air, irritating scaly eyelids. The sky overhead was intensely blue now, cloudless, with a scorching sun perched high. He saw a wide desert expanse that stretched to the horizon, dunes rising and falling like golden waves.

Lamphrey stood among other Tialax who had joined with new tribes, ragged but united. Her vantage was older again, adulthood etched in the lines of her face. All eyes were fixed on a towering statue in the center of their congregation: the likeness of a three-headed serpent warrior, each head crowned by curved horns, each mouth open in a silent, monstrous cry. In one set of arms, the statue held a slender, wicked-looking sword; in the other, a spear that gleamed with carved runes.

Ethan could almost feel the trembling awe in the lizardfolk around him. They knelt on the scalding sand without complaint, chanting guttural syllables that swirled in the desert air. The statue seemed alive with an energy that pulsed in time with their chanting.

Then, from somewhere deep below the shifting sands, that presence rose.

A voice, echoing across the dunes, harsh and vicious, yet strangely enthralling. The statue's eyes ignited with a flicker of green flame, and the Tialax let out a chorus of hissing exultations. In that moment, Ethan recognized the power of an Archon, just as potent as the spark he carried within himself, though twisted by raw aggression.

Gelsaadra, Lamphrey's mental voice explained, thick with memory. She came to us as Karfangg's antithesis. Where he sought boundaries, she tore them down. Where he wished to protect, she wished to conquer.

Ethan watched the Tialax press their scaled palms against the base of the statue, letting trails of greenish magic creep across the carved stone. The statue cracked—splintered—and then a monstrous shape lurched out: a serpentine figure with multiple heads, each crowned in horns, each visage a reflection of some primal fury. Her scaled body towered three times the height of any Tialax, rippling with well-honed muscle. Gripping a sword in one set of hands and a spear in the other, her presence alone radiated the thrill of violence. Ethan half-expected the desert sands to turn red beneath her steps.

They knelt in reverence. She regarded them through her triple gazes, tongues flicking from each mouth in turn. The energy she radiated was a far cry from Karfangg's compassionate—if sometimes ferocious—aura. This was pure hunger for conflict—an appetite for war unbridled by the moral questions that once consumed the black dragon.

"Rise," Gelsaadra commanded, her voice layered in multiple timbres, creating an echo that resonated straight through bone and sinew. The Tialax did so. "Leave your sorrow in the ashes of your old gods. I stand before you—your new Archon. And together we shall bring about the downfall of those who would see us cower in darkness."

Lamphrey's vantage shifted, leaping through scenes of planning and pilgrimage. One moment, Ethan saw Tialax trudging across scorching desert dunes; the next, they forged alliances with scattered tribes of Hybrid creatures: part-human, part-beast—some with fur, some with chitin, some with horns or talons. They looked savage but organized, fueled by a fiery devotion to Gelsaadra's call.

Hybrids were the promised people in her eyes, Lamphrey's voice resonated within Ethan. Half of the old, half of the new. She believed they were destined to eradicate the tyranny of humans—or any race that opposed her dominion.

Ethan watched from behind Lamphrey's eyes as these ragged armies marched from desert settlement to desert settlement, smashing through wooden gates, burning huts and watchtowers, driving out or slaughtering the humans who dared to claim dominion over these harsh lands. With every conquest, the hybrids grew bolder, the Tialax more enthralled.

He saw Gelsaadra at the forefront, a living tempest in battle—her seven serpent heads (it seemed to have multiplied, or perhaps each memory simply revealed more of her true form) snapping at foes, her sword and spear whirling in deadly arcs. At times, entire ranks of human soldiers rushed her, blades biting into scaly flesh. But Gelsaadra only hissed in laughter, letting them pierce her hide, then shedding that layer of scales in a wet, glistening pile on the sand. Beneath the discarded skin, she emerged unscathed. That unstoppable regeneration was horrifying, mesmerizing—a manifestation of her Eternal Life.

"There can be no peace where they stand!" Gelsaadra declared at the flaming wreckage of a desert fortress, her triple voices overlapping. "Only conquest. Only war. Until the last kingdom of man falls to ruin."

Lamphrey watched, unwavering. This is what we believed, she told Ethan. That we served an unbreakable war-goddess, and that she would free us from oppression. But oppression by who? The humans? The angels? We had lost sight of Karfangg's will… of what might have been a more balanced existence. We only saw the bright banner of war.

Ethan felt the same sense of connection he'd felt with Karfangg. He looked into the fiery eyes of Gelsaadra and saw…pain.

He saw a woman playing with dogs, cats, birds and bunnies…but they were wounded. Ripped. Cut. Beaten. Broken. He saw her call to them and coax them out of boxes and onto clean tables where she gave them medicine. He saw her care for them, nursing them to health, encouraging them when they tried to walk again and consoling them when nobody wanted them.

And he felt her fury every time she found some brutalized little pup or kitten cowering in the corner of its drunken owner's home, or neglected on the street.

She was a vet…Ethan realized. Of course she was. She cared more about animals than people because…well…the answer's obvious, isn't it?

The memory churned again, skipping forward. Ethan saw glimpses: a towering dune fortress battered by Hybrid siege engines, the swirling sands thick with smoke and blood; Gelsaadra roaring victory from atop a shattered parapet; human caravans fleeing in droves through the desert; Tialax warriors kneeling in worship, eyes alight with the madness of devotion.

Then a new vision intruded. Darkness again, though this time it was a hush of catacombs. A group of men, cloaked in grey, stood around a large stone sarcophagus. Their features were strained, sweaty from the heat. There was a sense of dread, as if they knew they committed a blasphemy. But none backed away.

In the flickering torchlight, Ethan saw what they huddled around: a woman's corpse, wrapped in white linens. Her wings—once divine, presumably—were folded across her body, the feathers stiff and colorless with death. This was Krea, he realized, the Angel of Kaedmon.

The men removed the linens, revealing Krea's pale torso. One drew a knife and, hands trembling, cut a shallow line along the dead angel's arm. Thick, silvery blood seeped forth, reflecting the torchlight. Each man placed a glass vial beneath the cut, collecting the unearthly fluid. They watched one another with a mixture of fear and exaltation.

Then they drank.

The effect was immediate. The men convulsed, dropping their vials as white-hot power ignited behind their eyes. Some doubled over, retching. Others let out gasps that bordered on agony and ecstasy. A glow washed over them, reminiscent of the light that had surrounded Krea in the memory of Karfangg's final stand. The men tore off their cloaks, revealing newly formed scars that glowed with ephemeral runes across their flesh.

They became the first of the Greycloaks, Lamphrey's voice said, subdued. The first humans blessed by divine light outside the direct favor of Kaedmon's angels. But one of them…the one who drank first…his change was different.

A single figure among them stood taller, older, and after draining his glass, he radiated a powerful aura that hushed the others. This man lifted his hand and flexed newly shimmering fingers. A faint halo flickered around his brow. The rest bowed before him, acknowledging him as their leader.

And Ethan knew his name. It was as though it were suddenly etched in his brain in burning, searing light that stood one hundred meters tall:

Casimer. Krea's successor. The first human Lightborn…

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