Zephyreon

Caelum had stretched the sky into an infinite vault, but he had not expected

anything to claim it so violently. Zephyreon was born in the heart of the

first great thunderstorm — a fusion of wind and fury and electrical fire that

took shape and refused to dissipate. It screamed through the heavens faster

than anything the world had ever produced, trailing lightning like a comet

trails dust. Where Zephyreon flew, the atmosphere itself tore apart and

reformed in its wake. The sound of its passage was the first thunder — not

the rumble of distant clouds, but a crack so sharp it split stone on the

ground below. Even Aurelion gave it room. The sky was vast enough for both

of them, but only barely. When the First Beasts fell, the storms did not end.

They simply forgot who they once were. Every bolt of lightning is a memory of

Zephyreon — the sky remembering what it felt like to scream.