The Black Claw Matriarch leaned forward, shadows parting to reveal her colossal form. Her black scales shimmered like oil on water, and her eyes—twin eclipses—locked onto the lion standing below.
She stared for a long, heavy moment.
"You wield... Sovereign Flame," she finally said, her voice slow and cold. "Not borrowed. Not inherited. Not a stolen spark. You… remember it."
Askar lowered his paw. The flames vanished, but the air remained tense, the room still warped from the touch of his fire.
"I carry no illusion," he said, his voice steady. "I am not a Sovereign. Not yet. But I am Flame-Bound, chosen by the Will of the One Who Burned Empires."
The Matriarch's gaze narrowed further. "But how… Earth has not seen Sovereigns in a thousand thousand years."
"I do not know why I was chosen," Askar said. "But I have not come to beg. I represent the Flame Sovereign—and I come with purpose."
He raised his head, his voice deepening, echoing with strange resonance.
