Epilogue - The Chamber of Reverence

Sanctum of the Church of the First, Tymon   The chamber was silent except for the faint hum of the Gauntlet of the Dragon’s Command, or what remained of it. Its red light bled through the golden braziers, reflecting against murals of winged divinity that watched like judges. The heavy doors opened with a deep groan.   Saint Alduin entered.   His armor, Exuvia Tyrannis, gleamed like a captured sun. The Breastplate of Chromatic Dominion pulsed with the light of the red wyrmstone at its center, its rhythm matching his own heartbeat. Each step echoed through the marble hall. Behind him, the shadows of his Silver Flight were gone, sacrificed in what he called "devotion to Tynathria."   At the far end of the hall, Dagourn Thundercrag sat upon the Seat of Ascension. The High Priest’s face was hidden beneath his hood, his posture calm, the metallic claws of his fused gauntlet gleaming faintly beneath the folds of his robe.   Alduin stopped halfway down the aisle. His voice rang clear, firm, and proud. "I see you received my invitation, priest. Good. I have come for what is mine. My sacrifice is complete. The Silver Flight has fallen, burned in Her name. Their souls offered to the Dark Queen. You know what that means, Dagourn."   The hooded figure did not stir. "I know what it means for you," Dagourn said evenly. "It means you believe you've finally proven something."   Alduin's eyes flashed, their light reflected in the gold tiles. "You doubt Her will? Their deaths were a sacrifice. Their blood purifies the path ahead."   Dagourn finally lifted his head, his gaze like a blade through the dim light. "The only thing you've ever purified, Alduin, is your reflection."   The warpriest stepped closer, and the wyrmstone in his chest brightened until it bathed Dagourn's robes in crimson light. "Careful, priest. You speak as though you've forgotten who bears Her voice."   Dagourn rose slowly. The movement was deliberate, unhurried. "I haven't forgotten."   He extended his right hand. The necrotic claw, woven with the gold from Tynathria's melted gauntlet, glimmered as they caught the light. When his palm touched the wyrmstone, the chamber shuddered with a deep vibration. Black veins spread along his forearm, the flesh beneath his scales alive with crimson fire.   "Do you feel that, Alduin?" Dagourn's voice dropped to a near whisper. "This is her truth. She gave you the fire to speak in Her name."   He raised his eyes and cast back his hood. His white scales were now a deep, molten red.   "But She gave me the power to decide whose voice She listens to."   Alduin took half a step back. The wyrmstone dimmed slightly, the dragonfire within faltering for a breath.   "You play with forces you cannot control," Alduin said, his tone low but sharp. "Tynathria's purpose burns within me. She chose me to reshape this world."   Dagourn's mouth curled into a faint, controlled smile. "Then reshape it. Build, burn, conquer... whatever you believe She commands. Just remember to do it in Tynathria's name."   The words sounded polite, even reverent, yet carried a quiet insult. To Dagourn, Alduin's faith was pride dressed in prophecy. His own.   They stood in silence for a long moment. The air vibrated between them, two powers circling the same throne.   Alduin's gaze lingered on the gauntlet. His jaw tightened. "Enjoy your pious throne while it lasts."   Dagourn inclined his head slightly. "I intend to. You’re doing fine work, ensuring it remains mine."   The doors slammed shut behind Alduin as he departed.   Dagourn stood alone, the red light of the wyrmstone fading into embers. Smoke curled from his clawed hand. His lips curved into a restrained smile, one that spoke not of victory, but of control.   The balance had shifted, and Dagourn intended to keep it that way.