The sky above Blackspire Peak cracked open in a riot of crimson light. A lone figure stood at its summit, muscles coiled like a steel trap and eyes alight with ancient fire. In his hands, he held a beating heart of pure Lionblood—warm, radiant, and thrumming with raw power.
Below him, the last tremors of a shattered Aether Well scarred the earth. Rivers of golden energy cracked through valley and forest, threatening to swallow every village in flame and ruin. The warrior knew what he had to do.
He lifted the heart high. His roar split the night—an echoing command that bent the wind and cracked the clouds. Warm light poured from his veins, sealing the Well's fracture in a blaze of brilliance. For a moment, all was still, and a thousand lives were spared.
But salvation came at a terrible price. Life drained from his eyes as his body sagged under the Relic's final pulse. He dropped to one knee, lips trembling with the last of his breath. With a trembling hand, he carved three words into the scorched stone:
"Lion's heart is power… and every roar demands blood."
His head fell forward. The first Lion King became legend in that instant—his crown not gold but bone, his legacy both promise and warning. Generations would chase his power, haunted by the echo of his roar and the weight of his sacrifice.
Now, under a blood-red moon, that ancient roar stirs again—calling forth a new champion to bear the Lion's heart, and to face the price of its power.