The Ember-born Oath

"When stone first remembered fire, and fire first bled into steel, a promise was etched into the bones of the mountain, that Rak’nar, though buried in shadow, would one day breathe again."   So begins the tale whispered in secret chambers and sung low over forge-embers: the Ember-Born Oath , a prophecy older than its first speaker, handed from beard to beard, mother to son, stone to spirit.   They say in the hour of deepest silence, when even the dead no longer speak and the halls echo only with the breathing of old magic, one shall awaken not born of kin, but called by legacy. Not of royal blood, yet blood-bound to the mountain. Not raised by stone, but marked by it. A soul of many edges , part hammer, part flame, part storm , neither wholly dwarf, nor wholly other.   "From ash and oath, from ruin and root, Shall rise the flame that does not flicker. The mountain shall groan, the stone shall split, And the halls shall sing once more."   It is said this figure shall come when three signs are met: when the Crown without a Kingdom is offered without pride, when the Vault of Echoes opens itself without key, and when a weeping blade is found buried in bone.   Some claim the Ember-Born walks the world already, unaware of what lies asleep inside them. Others say they will not be born until the last heir of the mountain forgets his own name. The tale changes in every retelling, but one thing remains: the mountain itself will know them. The stones will whisper. The fire will lean toward them. The dead will cease their toil and look up.   "In shadow's heart where spider reigns, A name unspoken will be carved in gold. With voice like thunder and feet like roots, They shall come, not to rule, but to free."   And when that day comes, the dark will tremble, and Rak’nar will stir , not as it once was, but as it was always meant to be. Forged anew, not by blood alone, but by honor remembered, family restored, and heirlooms reclaimed from silence.   Until then, the mountain sleeps. But it does not forget.