Born of two, yet neither alone, stronger together than either known. I stand in statues, warm and bold, not quite silver, not quite gold.

Generals gathered in their masses Just like witches at black masses Evil minds that plot destruction Sorcerer of death's construction

Standing tall through wind and rain, a silent keeper of time's old chain. Unmoved by whispers of the past, a steadfast figure always steadfast.

Scaly monarch with a deadly glance, turns all to stone in a chilling dance. Crowned with feathers, tales surround, the serpent king where legends are found.

In fire I fall, in ash I sleep, yet death itself I do not keep. From cinders cold my wings are spun, what am I, the deathless one?