The rain lashed relentlessly against the jagged, moss-covered stones of the ancient mountain fortress. Each drop seemed to drive the cold deeper into the bones, an icy harbinger of horror. Above them, a network of lightning ripped open the pitch-black sky, only to be replaced by the orange reflections of the flames that blazed from the destroyed battlements of the ruin. In the center of this chaos reared a creature of nightmarish majesty: a dragon whose scales looked like blackened metal, marked by countless battles. Its eyes glowed like open wounds in the rock, filled with ancient hatred and the heat of stellar fire.

  Opposite it, drenched and tense, stood a group whose reputation preceded them – the "Silver Blades," Platinum-rank adventurers, the second-highest rank the guilds had to offer. Few achieved this status, even fewer survived it for long.

  "Fortress Wall formation!" roared Kaelen, the leader. His bearded face was streaked with rain and sweat, but his voice cut through the roar of the storm. The massive steel tower of his shield, adorned with the emblem of an unyielding mountain, braced against the wind.

  To his left, Lyra, the rogue, moved silently as a shadow among the rubble. Her daggers, their blades shimmering with an ominous green light, were ready to deliver deadly poison into the enemy's veins. To Kaelen's right, Elara, the archmage, began to weave arcane syllables. Runes on her deep blue robe lit up like constellations, gathering the ozone from the lightning and the raw energy of the storm. Behind them stood Seraphina, the healer, her crystal staff pulsing with gentle white light, an oasis of calm in the raging chaos, ready to bestow life. And on an elevated position, half-hidden behind a shattered wall, Faelar, the archer, drew his longbow. A golden arrow lay ready, its tip humming softly with concentrated magical energy.

  The battle was a dance on the edge of the abyss, a brutal ballet of steel, magic, and scales. Kaelen's shield parried claw strikes that could shatter granite, each impact making his arms tremble, yet he did not yield an inch. Lyra exploited every distraction, every gap in the dragon's defense, to strike with lightning speed, aiming her poisoned blades at the few vulnerable spots between the thick scales. Elara's spells exploded in cascades of searing fire and freezing ice, forcing the monster back, making the air crackle, while Seraphina's healing energy flowed like a warm river over wounds, closing them before they could become life-threatening. Faelar's golden arrows repeatedly found their mark, exploding with blinding light to irritate the dragon, or piercing thick scale plates with unstoppable force.

  They were a well-coordinated team, their movements the result of years of fighting together, a living example of mortal coordination and determination. Slowly, inch by inch, they cornered the dragon, using the crumbling terrain of the ruin to their advantage, forcing it into a position from which there was no escape. The ground trembled under the monster's blows, stones shattered like glass, but the formation held, a bulwark against the primal force.

  A final, desperate charge from the dragon, a cry of rage and pain, was blocked by Kaelen's unshakeable shield. At the same moment the scales trembled under the impact, Faelar's last golden arrow shot forth. It flew with deadly precision, guided by years of practice and a touch of magic. It struck exactly where Lyra's daggers had created a weak spot deep in the dragon's armor – straight into the heart.

  A bloodcurdling, gurgling roar echoed through the mountains, a final convulsion, then the massive body collapsed like a felled tree. Dust and debris swirled up, mixing with the rain into a gray veil. Silence descended, broken only by the steady patter of the rain and the soft crackle of the still-burning flames.

  They had done it. Relief, heavy and sweet, flooded the group. Kaelen lowered his shield with a groan, a broad, exhausted smile spreading across his lips. "Well done, everyone. Very well done."

  But the silence was deceptive. It became heavy. Oppressive. An invisible, immeasurable presence settled upon their souls like lead, suffocating the nascent joy. The air grew thick, difficult to breathe, as if submerged underwater. Elara gasped, stumbling backward, beads of sweat, red as fresh blood, appearing on her forehead. She sank to her knees, her hands clawing at the muddy ground. "What... what is this power...? This is... impossible..."

  A voice resonated. It was not loud, not physically audible, yet it thundered in their minds, making their thoughts tremble and their bones vibrate. It was not a language one could learn, but the essence of command and power itself.

  "You fools... Your petty victory is meaningless. Do you truly believe the death of one of my children would change the great game?"

  From the lifeless carcass of the dragon, no soul flowed, no final breath – instead, the very air tore open as if it were thin paper. A portal, pulsating like a living heart of pure, impenetrable energy and ancient, cosmic darkness, opened where the dragon's heart had been. It sucked in light and shadow alike. From its blinding, unbearable light, which pained the eyes and paralyzed the mind, a figure emerged.

  Tall, majestic, yet not of flesh and blood. Its form seemed woven from concentrated starlight and the void between galaxies, flickering yet absolutely present. Its eyes were not eyes, but two exploding suns that saw everything and yet seemed to perceive nothing but the patterns of power. It was Kaer'Zhul, the God of Dragons, the Creator and Destroyer, the embodiment of dominion and wrath. His aura was a maelstrom of immeasurable power, deep-rooted, cold hatred, and the detached wisdom of eons that had seen the universe come and go. His presence alone made the air freeze and the souls of mortals wither.

  "The war is long over," his voice echoed in their minds, each syllable a hammer blow against their mental defenses. "You lost it long before you even understood its rules. You are merely dust motes in the wind of time."

  Kaelen, the warrior, reacted instinctively, driven by courage and desperation. With a cry of rage that died in his throat before reaching his lips, he raised his shield and charged forward. But he didn't take a step. His body no longer obeyed. An inaudible, unimaginable pressure, the pure manifestation of divine will, crushed him like a tin can in a giant's fist. No cracking of bones, no spurting blood, no cry of pain – just a sudden, horrifying nothingness. His body imploded silently, his armor clattering to the ground in a heap of bent metal, empty.

  The others froze in pure, paralyzing terror. Lyra, the rogue, instinctively tried to retreat into the shadows, but the shadows themselves seemed to recoil from this presence, offering no protection. A soft crackling filled the air around her, and she simply dissolved, disintegrating into fine, gray dust that was washed away by the rain.

  Faelar, the archer, dropped his bow, his hands trembling uncontrollably, his eyes wide with incredulous horror. He wanted to scream, but his lungs filled with molten gold that poured from his eyes, nose, and mouth before he sank silently to the ground, a grotesque statue of his former self.

  Seraphina, the healer, whose staff had fallen to the ground with a soft clink, raised her hands in a gesture of supplication or defense. Her holy light flickered briefly but was immediately swallowed by the oppressive darkness. Then her body stiffened, her skin cracked like dry earth, and she shattered into a thousand pieces as if made of brittle clay.

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  Only Elara, the archmage, remained standing, albeit on trembling knees. The arcane energy she wielded barely protected her, but it allowed her to sense the sheer immensity of the power before her. "Who... who are you?" she whispered, tears of exertion and absolute terror streaming down her face.

  Kaer'Zhul's gaze, if one could call it that, fell upon her, and a spark of something like cool, analytical curiosity flashed in his sun-like eyes. "An Awakened one... interesting. You sense the currents, don't you? The truth behind the veil of reality. A rare gift... and a futile one."

  He raised a hand, a gesture of casual omnipotence, and time itself seemed to freeze. The rain hung in the air like diamond dust, lightning froze into bizarre, luminous sculptures in the sky. The flames no longer moved, trapped in an eternal moment. Absolute, deafening silence descended.

  "You killed my children," his voice now boomed only in Elara's mind, an icy monologue in the silence of her consciousness. "You disturbed the balance I forged with blood and fire eons ago. For this, you will pay. This world, this ridiculous collection of short-lived vermin, will burn."

  Images flooded Elara's mind, not as visions, but as experienced reality – the smell of burnt flesh, the sound of collapsing towers, the screams of millions, the feeling of unstoppable dragon wings darkening the sky. The end was not just a possibility; it was a foregone conclusion.

  But before Kaer'Zhul could begin his destructive work, before he could turn the frozen world to ash, a blinding beam of pure, warm light tore through the frozen sky. It did not strike Kaer'Zhul, but manifested before him into a figure of breathtaking beauty and unshakeable authority.

  Aeliria, the Goddess of Humans, Light, and Hope, stood there. Her hair flowed like liquid starlight, pushing back the darkness, her eyes were clear and deep as the infinite sky on a summer noon, full of compassion yet infinitely determined. Her presence was different from Kaer'Zhul's – not oppressive, but pervasive, ordering, a force that did not destroy, but preserved.

  "Enough, Kaer'Zhul," she said, her voice sounding like a thousand silver bells yet infinitely gentle, but with a core of steel. "You overstep your bounds. Once again."

  Kaer'Zhul turned to her, his formless shape flickering with concentrated wrath. "Aeliria! You dare stand in my way? These mortals have exterminated my brood! They have broken the law!"

  "They killed a dragon that posed a threat, Kaer'Zhul. One that had strayed from your path," Aeliria replied calmly, her composure a sharp contrast to his simmering rage. "But your reaction, your will for the total annihilation of an entire world in response, is no longer acceptable. It is disproportionate. It is tyranny. The other gods agree with me. We have conferred. Your age of unchallenged dominion over the fate of this world is over."

  "Treason!" roared Kaer'Zhul, and the frozen world trembled slightly under the force of his indignation. "You dare judge me? Me, the First, the Eldest?"

  "Not treason. A correction," Aeliria said, her voice becoming firmer. "Power corrupts, and absolute power has blinded you. You have forgotten what it means to be vulnerable. You have forgotten why life, even mortal, fleeting life, has inherent value. You only see pieces on a game board that you can overturn at will. You shall learn it again now."

  She raised a hand, and golden light, pure and warm, flowed from her fingers like liquid sun. "You speak of laws, but disregard the most fundamental law: respect for life, which we all once swore to protect. You have become a danger to the balance you claim to uphold."

  Golden chains of pure light shot from the ground, from the frozen lightning in the sky, from the air itself. They wrapped around Kaer'Zhul, hissing and steaming as they touched his dark, chaotic energy. He struggled, roared curses that could make stars tremble, his power tore at the bonds, making the light flicker, but they held firm, reinforced by the united will of the gods who supported Aeliria's judgment.

  "You will no longer judge the world of humans," Aeliria continued, her voice now filled with unyielding, divine power. "You will live among them. As one of them. In a body that knows pain, suffers hunger, that can die. May your immeasurable pride be tested in a new, fragile existence. Learn humility, Kaer'Zhul. Learn empathy. Or perish in your own bitterness."

  A final, powerless cry of rage, hatred, and the deepest humiliation escaped Kaer'Zhul as the golden chains tightened around him, dragging him inexorably back into the pulsating portal that reopened behind him, ready to cast him into his exile.

  A blinding, all-consuming light filled the ruin, then the portal closed with a final, thunderous clap that set frozen time back into motion and allowed reality to return.

  The rain fell again as if nothing had happened. Lightning flashed across the sky. The flames continued to dance on the rubble. There was no trace left of Kaer'Zhul. Of the Silver Blades, only Kaelen's empty, crushed armor, a pile of gray dust, a pool gleaming with gold, and shattered, petrified remains were left. And the fallen weapons, silent witnesses to an extinguished legend. Elara stood alone, trembling all over, the echo of the divine voices still in her head, unable to comprehend what she had just survived – and why.

  When Kaer'Zhul regained consciousness, the first sensation was pain. Not the epic pain of a divine wound, but a dull, pulling ache in muscles he didn't know. Then came the darkness. Not the familiar, absolute darkness of the abyss or deep caves, but the damp, earthy, living darkness of a forest at night. Above him, leaves rustled in a wind that felt strangely cool on his skin.

  The smell. It entered his nose, overwhelming and alien: damp earth, mold, the sweetish aroma of rotting wood, and the sharp perfume of pine needles. Smells of mortality, of decay.

  He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his back, and his limbs obeyed only reluctantly. They felt foreign, weak, uncoordinated, like poorly pulled marionette strings. With a groan that surprised even him – a sound of weakness! – he managed to sit up.

  He looked down at himself. Where once scales like polished obsidian or a flickering form of pure energy had been, he now saw pale, soft skin, covered in simple, rough clothing of linen or something similar. His hands... he raised them before his face. They were small, the fingers slender, the nails short and clean. The hands of a young man, barely out of boyhood, incapable of crushing even a stone, let alone a mountain. A wave of nausea rose within him.

  He took a deep breath, but the breath was shallow, the air felt different in this new, inadequate lung. Heavy. Laborious. And then he heard it – a soft, irregular pounding in his chest. His heart. A weak, fluttering rhythm, so vulnerable, so human.

  Panic, cold and foreign, threatened to rise, but he stifled it with the iron discipline of eons of rule. He was Kaer'Zhul. He knew no panic. Only wrath.

  He was Kaer'Zhul. Trapped in this... insect of a body. A prison of flesh and blood.

  He closed his eyes, ignoring the external stimuli, and focused inward, searching for the familiar ocean of his power. It was still there. Buried deep, muffled like a dormant volcano under a thick crust of ice, but it was there. The divine fire, his essence, untouched. But this body was an insufficient vessel, a leak in the dam. He could feel the power, sense its immeasurable depth, but barely access it. Every attempt to channel it resulted in a trickle, a faint echo of what he was. It was like trying to drink an ocean through a clogged straw. An unbearable frustration.

  Anger, cold, precise, and absolute, flowed through him, momentarily displacing the physical weakness. Aeliria. The other gods. Traitors. They had humiliated him, locked him in this... cage of flesh, to break him.

  He forced himself laboriously to his feet, leaning on a rough tree trunk whose bark scratched against his unaccustomed sensitive fingers. His muscles trembled with unfamiliar exertion. He looked around the dark forest. Strange stars twinkled through the canopy, in constellations he had never seen before. The air was filled with the sounds of small, nocturnal creatures. Life. Everywhere this despicable, mortal life.

  "So be it, Aeliria," he thought, and his inner eyes, the true eyes of the god, glowed briefly in the darkness of his new skull. "I am now among them. I will learn this pathetic world where you abandoned me. I will study its weaknesses, understand its fears, dissect its hopes. And then... then I will judge. Not as a god from afar. But from within."

  The first chapter was written. Not in a book, but in his destiny. And it was a chapter full of wrath and the promise of future retribution.