I have watched many rise and fall.
But only one began with a dream.
Long before his name was whispered in the dark, he was simply Kor—born beneath the crushing skies of Korranthis, where survival left no space for hope. His people had no word for dream. Yet in him, something stirred that none could name.
When fire split the heavens, they thought the gods had come. But it was no god. It was man—descendants of Earth, long since turned to dust, its oceans gone a hundred millennia past. They carried fragments of memory, and the arrogance to shape others in their image.
They called his kind primitive. They promised salvation. Instead, they bound him in steel and silence. In their grasp, a torrent of knowledge spilled loose—enough to break any mind. Yet he endured. And in that endurance, the storm began.
They thought him simple.
They did not see what was coming.
He would be hunted. Changed. Renamed. He would lose what he had been and take a name from legend—an echo of a tale whispered long before the world understood it was his own.
Vear.
The first dreamer of a forgotten world.
And I remember it still.
I was there. Unseen. Watching.