I came up from the water in iron panoply of war, and the dragon-that-is-bound surged up behind the burning of my left eye, in which the Storm-of-Man my King had set the dragon-rune. Behind me marched my twelve fists of warriors whose prayer-wrought swords left gouts of cold emptiness in the bitter red air, for we were come to the lands where men breathed demon light from the moon and gnashed their teeth at true Breath. Then the sea lords drank back up their spirit, which had carried us with great haste, and we marched forth into the bloody fields before hell-on-earth.

It was eight and ninety years since the Dragon rose, though the sun was stopped for three more in-between, and the fingers of the Reaching Storm boiled up from the south to darken the world. And men remembered Gbaji.