Approved for circulation among the general populace by order of the Aelorian Archives.
Beneath the spire where Briarhold loomed,
A fortress stood, in grief entombed.
Yet from the dark, two hearts arose—
One bore the blade, the other the rose.
With sword alight, the knight would stand,
Astraea’s will within his hand.
The bard sang low where hope had thinned,
His voice a light the dark could not dim.
Through fire’s roar and shattered stone,
They faced the siege, yet not alone.
For steel may hold and songs may mend—
But neither stands without the friend.
Where war would break and hearts would sever,
Their bond endured, unyielding ever.
Not forged in peace, nor born of ease—
But found in fire, and held through these.
At night’s cold breath, where doubt had grown,
No longer would he stand alone.
A hand was taken, a truth laid bare—
That love could live, even there.
When dawn at last broke through the flame,
No soul who stood remained the same.
The tide was turned, the war undone—
Not by the blade, nor song alone.
Now roses bloom where blood once lay,
Their crimson hue does not decay.
And voices rise in soft refrain—
That love and war are not in vain.