There was a massive tree that grew upon the summit of a volcano—an ancient, living monolith whose roots delved deep into the magma below, feeding on the molten fury of the earth's heart. From its core, waves of volatile energy pulsed outward in all directions, saturating the land with heat and divine power.
This was no ordinary tree. It was colossal beyond measure, so vast that it served as a living city. Entire civilizations thrived within its enormous trunk and branches, with millions of inhabitants calling its hollowed roots and bark-covered towers home. At the very heart of this tree—deep within a chamber carved from obsidian bark and glowing with molten veins—sat a figure who looked less like a man and more like a monument to wrath and primordial destruction.
His name was Jarkal.
