The dragon descended through the living heart of the World Tree, its colossal wings folding as they entered a vast, cathedral-like hollow carved from glowing emerald wood and starlight.
Ren clung desperately to the dragon's scale, his naked body tiny and insignificant against the ancient being. Then the dragon gently lowered itself, and Ren slid off its back onto a platform of living wood.
He looked up.
And his mind nearly shattered.
The Sire sat upon a throne woven from the very branches of the World Tree itself.
He was beyond colossal.
His form was that of a towering humanoid, easily hundreds of meters tall, yet he carried the weight of entire galaxies in his presence. His skin had the texture of rough, weathered marble — pitch-black, veined with slow-moving nebulae and distant burning constellations that swirled beneath the surface like living tattoos of the cosmos. Where the skin cracked at the joints, blinding beams of pure creation-light spilled out.
