From volcanic heart, a titan rose,
Blazamut, ablaze, where molten flows.
A creature forged in primal fire,
With eyes that ember, hot desire.
Through ash and cinders, wings unfurl,
A scorching shadow on the world.
His roar a tremor, earth replies,
In every beat, destruction lies.
But in his core, a flicker burns,
A dream of wings that gently turn.
Not towards pyres, but skies serene,
A yearning for a different scene.
He longs to break the fiery chains,
To soothe the pain of molten rains.
To paint the heavens, not with blight,
But brushstrokes bathed in gentle light.
Yet whispers echo, dark and low,
Of power’s hunger, embers glow.
The call to burn, to rage, to char,
A constant battle, fought afar.
Oh, Blazamut, of ash and dream,
Will gentle flames your spirit redeem?
Can you transcend the fiery plight,
And find your solace in the light?
Or will the inferno claim its hold,
Leaving just ashes, stark and cold?
The answer lies within your soul,
Where embers dance, to lose control.