“The slave of Night and Chaos,
A spoke in the wheel of time.
Scourge of Heaven, a prince cast down,
Crowned in ash, condemned by design.”
In the shadow of Heaven’s ruin, something stirs.
He was not born. He was sent. A soul sculpted from silence and sorrow, carried into flesh by a breath older than creation. Uriel awakens — not as a savior, but as a witness. Of betrayal buried in prophecy. Of power wrapped in frailty. Of a world worshiping the very chains that bind it.
But salvation is not granted. It is carved. And Uriel will carve his path through doubt, through pain, through truth that no god dares speak aloud. As lies unravel and light fractures, a son rises — not to lead, but to decide.
The war never ended. It only changed names.
The Ballad continues.
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