Thunder is his harbinger and lightning his spear.
Wind is his steed and rain his cloak.
The words of creation are in his ears and on his tongue.
The secrets of the first of sixteen are his.
At the dawn of the Dragon Above he rises,
and lays claim to what belongs to him.
The blood of the evening sky is his,
joining day to night,
what is above to what is below.
In twilight he becomes a pilgrim,
seeking what he has lost,
what lies beyond his grasp.
His storm flies wild, unbound and pure in devastation,
going before the traitor’s army
to break upon the city by the lake of kings.
In the darkest night of the Dragon Below,
storm and dragon are reunited,
and they break together upon the legions of the Blasphemer.
The maelstrom swirls around him.
He is the storm and the eye of the storm.
His is the new dawn.
In him the storm cannot die.