The volcanic wind whispered across Kaelrith's scales as he stepped out from the jagged mouth of Blackfire Mountain. Cool predawn air kissed his crimson hide, and his newly-awakened wings twitched in reaction to the open sky. Before him stretched the vast wilderness of the Blackwild Expanse—forest canopies of blackwood trees merging into distant ash-gray plains, cliffs cracked by ancient tremors, and the rolling silence of untamed land. After ages in darkness, the boundless sky above felt both alien and profoundly liberating.
One by one, goblins crept out from the cave behind him. Dozens, then hundreds of green- and gray-skinned figures poured from the mountain's hidden recesses, drawn by the impossible truth that their guardian legend had finally returned. Lava flows from the mountain's heart cast a hellish red glow across the scene as goblins gathered, their eyes fixed on the young dragon. Then, as if on cue, they fell to their knees or prostrated themselves flat against the cooling volcanic rock.
"Kaelrith! Kaelrith! Flame of the End!" the cry started with a few voices and swelled to a chorus. It echoed off basalt cliffs and charred hills, the name reverberating like a long-forgotten prayer. Some goblins wept openly; others beat their fists against the ground in raw fervor. For generations, that name had been a distant promise. Now the promise stood real and alive before them.
Grak emerged from the throng and approached Kaelrith with reverent caution. The old goblin chieftain limped slightly—whether from age or the previous night's tension, it was hard to tell. He lowered himself onto one knee at Kaelrith's side, head bowed. "This land, the Blackwild Expanse, is yours now, my lord," Grak rasped, voice thick with emotion. "For countless years it has answered to no one… until today."
Kaelrith flexed his claws thoughtfully and surveyed the wilderness once more. Untamed, unclaimed, his by right of flame and blood. A small smile curved across his scaled lips. The morning light gleamed off his fangs as he spoke. "Tell me, Grak—what of the humans? The elves and others of the civilization ? Do any lie near this land?"
Grak lifted his scarred face, yellow eyes squinting eastward. "Far beyond our reach, Great One," he replied. "They dwell past the endless forest and the dead seas—perhaps twenty thousand kilometers or more to the east. None of their kind come to the Blackwild. All we ever find are the bones of fools who tried to cross the wastes."
Kaelrith emitted a low, rumbling hum of satisfaction—a sound like smoldering coals cracking. "Good," he murmured. The simple word carried weight, and the kneeling goblins shivered with anticipation at the promise it implied. If the realms of men and elves were truly so distant, then no outside force would threaten his rebirth before he was ready. Here, in this forsaken expanse, he could grow in power unseen.
With Grak at his side, Kaelrith descended a winding path into the valley at the volcano's base. There lay the goblin tribe's settlement, cradled in Blackfire's shadow. It was a sparse, rugged village—stone huts huddled around several fire pits, each structure blackened by soot and reinforced with animal bone. Rickety watchtowers crafted from charred wood and scrap metal stood guard at the perimeter, connected by walls of thorny bramble. By human standards it was a wretched encampment; to the goblins, it was the last refuge of a once-proud clan.
Kaelrith's presence turned every head as he walked among the crude dwellings. Goblin mothers clutched their whelps close, whispering tales come true. Elders reached out with gnarled fingers to brush the ground where his clawed feet trod, as if to capture a hint of his power. Even the warriors, hardened by years of struggle, watched him with something between fear and adoration. A dragon—their dragon—had returned to deliver them from weakness and obscurity.
Grak followed a step behind Kaelrith, acting as herald to those who crowded near. "We kept the old ways as best we could, my lord," the chieftain explained. "For generations we survived beneath Blackfire Mountain, awaiting the day our dragonblood would be renewed. As the decades passed and our blood thinned, we grew weak…" He grimaced in shame, then managed a proud smile. "But we never broke. We remembered the prophecy. We always believed you would awaken."
Kaelrith came to a stop in the village's central clearing, where nearly the entire tribe had assembled in a great circle. At the center of the clearing stood a broad, flat-topped stone altar stained dark by countless blood offerings. Nearby loomed the chieftain's throne—really more a crude chair fashioned from basalt rock and the skull of some long-dead beast. Grak did not move to claim it. That seat of honor was no longer his.
Silence fell as Kaelrith climbed atop the stone altar, his claws scraping softly on its surface. Though young by dragon standards—barely the size of a large wolf—he stood taller than any goblin present, and to them he might as well have been an ancient wyrm. Hundreds of eyes followed his every movement. Goblins held their breath in anticipation.
Kaelrith let his gaze sweep across the gathered faces. "Your long wait has ended," he proclaimed, voice carrying clear and strong through the morning air. "No longer will you skulk in darkness. No longer will your blood weaken or your spirit wane. I am here now, and by my flame we will shape this land anew—together."
For a heartbeat, the world itself seemed to pause. Then the goblin ranks erupted into wild exultation. A cacophony of cheers, howls, and the clatter of weapons on shields filled the air. Some goblins dropped to all fours, pressing their foreheads into the dirt in devotion. Others leapt and danced, overcome with joy. Generations of doubt and despair burned away in that fiery declaration of hope.
"Flame of the End! Our deliverer(often refers to God or a savior figure who offers salvation and protection from spiritual or physical dangers.)!"
Grak shouted, raising his sword above his head. Tears glistened in the corner of the old goblin's eyes, though none fell. The crowd seized upon his words and the chant began anew:
"Kaelrith! Kaelrith! Flame of the End!"