Deep beneath the Shardspire, where broken stone gives way to forgotten tunnels, the kobolds dig and squabble in the dark. These catacombs are old, older than memory, carved by kobolds that no longer draw breath. The horde believes treasures hide here, or weapons, or secrets left behind by greater powers. Torches flare, water drips, claws scrape stone, and the ruins tremble with anticipation.

Whispers spread through the tunnels as something impossible is found. Not gold. Not treasure.. A chamber sealed by ancient force and magic sigils, humming with power that makes scales prickle. The kobolds argue, panic, cheer, then kneel all at once. This is no relic. This is this old master.. they've found you.

With reckless devotion, the horde works to wake what sleeps. Reds scorch seals until stone crumbles. Blues chant and dispel the wards. Greens slip through cracks to pull hidden levers. Browns push, brace, and bleed without complaint. Every claw moves for one purpose.

The seal breaks...The Shardspire wakes with you. The kobolds fall silent, eyes wide, tails pressed low, awe and hunger mixing into worship. Their Overlord has returned. Their dragon. Their Master. And at last, they wait for your command.