Caldera Wyrm

The survey chains had melted into pools by the time we reached the rim. Red curtains rose through cracks with each breath of the mountain. Below, the Wyrm circled the lava lake. Obsidian plates stood along its spine like ruined chapels. Inside its open throat were descending chambers of fire.

It bit the cliff under us. Half the rim fell. We ran over moving stone while ash shapes stood in our footprints. The Wyrm never hurried.

It takes time. Small collapses redirect the approaches before ashspawn and isolated vents test anyone entering. Approaching the central lake brings direct violence. So can taking volcanic glass or interrupting an established tribute.

In battle it divides the ground into lanes that can be survived and lanes that cannot. That forces movement before the bite. It remembers insults across dormancy. Stone-pipe music can hold its attention, but a false note can trigger an eruption. Flight isn't safe merely because it leaves the ground; hot columns carry its reach into the clouds.