For millennia, the world has been a cold, silent prison for lord Dynastes, The entity who was once a king. Now men call him a myth, a shadow or a mere trick of light. This race had forgotten that before there was soil, there was heat. Before there was breath there was fire. 

Deep within the shifting tectonic plates, or perhaps within the very heartbeats of men, Lord Denastes stirred. No longer the entity who once gave his flame to the Celestial Fort, Lord Dynastes was nothing but a ruthless prisoner who knew nothing but revenge. He looked out of the earths crust, his prison where he has had to listen the thoughts and desires of mankind for billions of years. He saw a world of eight billion people. To them, they were a civilization. To him, they were nothing but a forest of dry wood, waiting to be lit.

"The Jewels are cold," he said, his voice like the cinders of a dying hearth, "and the guardians are tired"

Finally, a hope, a feeling that the throne that was taken from him can be returned.

Somewhere across the globe, in an antique shop, a couple froze.Cyrus dropped a vile and Hestia felt a phantom burn across her palm that hadn<t been there for five thousand years. They didn<t need words. the ancient policy was clear. Peace was broken. Jewels were finding their hosts.

War had returned.