Kaijurath

Above Aurelion. Above Thalassor. Above every titan and terror and catastrophe

that the divine chaos had unleashed upon the world — Kaijurath stood alone.

The Supreme Apex. The final answer to the question of how powerful a living

thing could become. When it rose from the deepest fault line in the earth,

the ground cracked for a hundred miles in every direction. Its shadow

swallowed horizons. Its footsteps registered as earthquakes on the far side

of the world. And when it opened its mouth and roared — truly roared, with

the full force of divine fire burning in its chest — even the gods paused.

Not in fear — but in recognition of what they had done. They had made

something that tested the limits of what the world could hold. Kaijurath was magnificent. Kaijurath was

impossible. And Kaijurath was the reason the gods understood, for the first

time, that power without limit destroys even itself. It was not hated. It was

not punished. It was simply too vast, too fierce, too beautiful for a world

that was meant to endure.