From the void between stars, where time folds and shadows whisper, emerges the Dominus Ætherion — a helm not forged, but born. Its surface ripples like liquid obsidian, veined with glowing sigils that pulse to an ancient rhythm. Twin hoods rise like wings of smoke, and beneath them, silence reigns. This is no mere crown — it is a conduit of forgotten power, worn only by those who command not armies, but reality itself. When you wear it, the world bends slightly, as if it remembers who you are.
Hat