Prompt: top a mountain clawed from the clouds, where the wind howls like a tormented beast, Sir Gareth, the Lionheart, stands defiant. His armor, once polished to blinding brilliance, is now dulled and scratched, bearing the scars of a hundred battles. Yet, within his helm, his eyes burn with an unyielding fire, reflecting the crimson dawn spilling over the jagged peaks. Beneath him, the world plummets away in a dizzying spiral of mist and storm-tossed valleys. Across the jagged crown of the mountain, a monstrous shadow stirs. Craggy, obsidian scales glint like malevolent stars in the dying moonlight. A colossal head, horned and adorned with razor-sharp teeth, rises from the swirling mist, its nostrils blasting plumes of flame that ignite the swirling snowdrifts. This is Ignis, the wyrm of winter, his every breath a harbinger of death and desolation. The ground trembles as he drags his immense bulk towards Gareth, the earth splitting under the thunderous crash of his taloned feet.