In the misty dawn of ancient times, beneath the ember skies,
There hailed the brave, born of dragon blood, with destiny in their eyes.
They saw not through human lens, but with visions deep and wide,
Through the eyes of the forgotten races, they’d watch, and they’d guide.
These children of ethereal flames carried a weighty lore,
To balance shadow with the light, to open new doors.
They walked among the silent whispers of the breezes and the stones,
Bearing gifts from the Divines in their very flesh and bones.
Gifted with Honor, fine and pure, a beacon in the fray,
They bore Loyalty’s unwavering torch through night and into day.
Truth danced upon their noble tongues, Kindness in their wake,
With this, they’d mend the broken strings of choices all would make.
For they were the weavers of a world, torn by greed and strife,
Charged to restore an empire’s heart, to bring its soul to life.
Where every being would matter, hold worth of untold sums,
Where no one’s voice would falter, where no one’s hope succumbs.
The dragon-born beheld the world in shades unseen, unmet,
With hearts unbound by mortal coils, upon their fates were set.
To carve through darkness with the light that from their spirits poured,
To ensure each silent story was finally heard and forever adored.
So, listen well, for their tale unfolds within the realm of choice,
In their quest, behold the power of an often-muted voice.
Within each of us stirs the same, a fire touched by divine,
To share the light, to heal the shadows, in our own story’s line.