I sought to hold the morning sun, to claim its brilliance as my own. Yet warmth turned cold in what I won, and hunger chilled my gilded throne. Who am I?

I left no breath, no sound, no cry, Yet linger still where eons lie. Not born of ink, yet shaped in lore, pressed deep beneath the rocky floor. No mind recalls the form I cast, Yet stone remembers what could not last.

I'm there before the rooster crows, I hide away when morning glows. Then I return when day is done, I'm never there in midday sun. The devil's name was mine back then, But stories change and so do men.

released in nineteen-ninety, I was too expensive for most to procure. cartridges then cd, neither made it past obscure. arcade or home console, while Japanese in origin, my roots are all Greek.

I have always been associated with a country I don't belong to. I am small but I come in many colors, colors so beautiful they made a bubble burst.