Even the brightest flame must cast a shadow,
But darkness—
Darkness needs no light.
It will rise again,
A black hand stretching wide
To smother the world in ash and silence.
The light will falter.
The world will fade.
And then—
A spark.
Wild and divine.
A memory of fire lost in time.
An explosion against the void.
Hammer, Ring, and Crown will stand at her side—
The last relics of an ancient, unending battle.
Together they will face the Black Star,
And his twin wings of ruin.
And for a time,
The dark will sleep.
Naelúmë Syl’thera – Song of the Wild Spark
Even the flame in morning’s bloom
Casts her shadow long and deep.
But night, O night, she needs no flame—
She waits, she watches, she does not sleep.The hand of dark shall rise once more,
With wings that blot the sky.
Ash shall fall where flowers grew,
And silence be their cry.The light shall flicker, thin and pale,
As stars forget their name.
The world shall dim beneath the weight
Of shadow’s ancient claim.Then—
A spark shall rise where wild winds roam,
Born of chaos, light unknown.
A fire remembered in the bones,
An echo cast in stone.Three shall stand where one stands tall:
The Hammer bright with battle’s song,
The Crown that sees through veils and lies,
The Ring where whispers throng.These relics of a war long passed,
Shall rise with her again.
To face the Black Star’s cruel descent,
And break the tyrant’s chain.So sing, ye trees, of light once lost,
And flame that would not die.
For in her heart the dawn awakes,
And darkness learns to lie.
Durûndal Varn – The Spark in the Deep
Even fire leaves shadow on stone.
Even light bows when night has grown.
But dark—aye, dark—needs naught to thrive.
It waits, deep-rooted. It stays alive.It comes again on wings of black,
A hand to crush, a sky to crack.
Ash will fall like forge-born snow,
And silence take what hammers know._Light shall wane, the halls grow cold,
The world forget the tales of old._Then—
A spark shall flare from hearth and flame,
Wild-born, with no name.
Fire from a time near lost,
A blast to break the frost._She shall rise, the Flame unbound,
With relics forged in sacred ground:
The Hammer, heavy with wrath of right.
The Crown, carved clear to pierce the night.
The Ring, that hears what none would speak—
Secrets sung from stone and creek._With them she’ll face the Star grown black,
And break his wings, and drive him back.Let stone remember,
Let anvils sing—That when dark came
It met the flame,
And did not win.
The Spring She Brings
(A Halfling Hearthsong for Late Winter)
The snow is deep, the night is long,
But still we hum the hearthfire song.
For though the sky is cold and grey,
A brighter heart is on her way.She comes with bloom behind her trail,
A crown of flowers, soft and pale.
A hammer rings where frost once clung—
The song of spring already sung.A silver ring upon her hand,
A vow to wake the sleeping land.
With every step the rivers cheer,
And roots remember how to hear.So hang the pots and warm the bread,
And sweep the snow from garden bed.
The dark may grumble, growl, and bite—
But she is coming, full of light.And when she laughs, the cold will flee.
The world will bloom—
Just wait and see.
Naelúmë Varûl – The Song of the Twin Wings
Even the brightest flame must fade,
And shadow claim her throne.
For night has no need of morning’s light,
It waits, it hungers, it is its own.A hand of black shall rise once more,
And silence bind the sky.
Ash shall fall where rivers sang,
And mortals learn to die.Then—
From the void, twin wings shall spread,
To bear the Star to life again.
The world unmade, the slate wiped bare,
A canvas cleansed of mortal sin.The Hammer broken,
The Ring cast down,
The Crown made blind,
Their lights gone out.So let the void embrace the world,
As was always meant to be.
For in the Architect’s perfect dark,
Only ruin sets us free.