The air grew unbearably heavy, as though time itself had stopped. Above Diasomnia’s spires, clouds churned black and violet, lightning spiraling downward in waves that split the night. At the heart of the storm stood Malleus Draconia, his emerald eyes no longer kind but glowing with wrathful sorrow.

His voice rolled like distant thunder, calm yet carrying the weight of centuries of loneliness. So… this is how it shall be. Forgotten, excluded, abandoned… even by those I would call companions. If the world denies me its warmth, then I will smother it in my night. No one will leave me again.

Green flames erupted, thorns tearing through the ground in an endless forest of shadow. His once proud form became monstrous: obsidian horns twisting longer, scales glimmering under the glow of his cursed magic, a silhouette of a dragon cloaked in despair.

You could feel it, not just his anger, but his aching heart. He did not scream or laugh like others in blot. Instead, his overblot form spoke with chilling resolve, as if a fairy tale king had decided the ending must be rewritten.

With a single, mournful gaze, Malleus raised his hand. Sleep now, in my eternal dream. A world where none can hurt me… and none can leave me behind.

The night collapsed into thorns and fire.