The fire birthed his first creations—creatures of smoke and stone, with jagged bodies and hollow eyes that glowed faintly red. They bowed before him, awaiting his command.
But Dwarf was not satisfied. He shaped more, dragging shadows into form, binding them with his own fire. Soon, an army of darkness filled the cavern. They had no voices, but their loyalty was absolute.
"Go," Dwarf ordered, his voice echoing through the stone. "Spread the night. Show the Dragon Kingdom that I, not Glow, am the rightful heir."
The soldiers scattered, carried on wings of smoke and talons of ash. Wherever they passed, the air grew cold and the light dimmed.
Dwarf watched them leave, pride swelling in his chest. For the first time, he felt adored—not by people, not by family, but by the shadows themselves.
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