The Shadow of Mornir

In halls of stone where scholars dwell,
And wisdom's light does darkness quell,
There stands a beacon, pure and bright,
The final bastion in the night.

But shadows coil and shadows creep,
In silent whispers, secrets seep.
From ancient curse, a veil shall fall,
To shroud the light and darken all.

The tower high in Mornir's heart
Shall bear the mark of shadowed art;
The walls will weep, the fires fade,
As silence fills each hallowed grade.

Yet hope endures, though frail it be—
For three shall rise, by fate’s decree:
The Hand of Aumar, wise and old,
The Hand of Tir, both fierce and bold,
And Kelem’s Hand, of judgment cold.

When these three hands are bound as one,
And the Nine Stars of Ishtar run,
The shadowed siege shall break and flee,
And light reclaim the Academy.

So heed these words and guard the flame,
For darkness comes, yet hope remains.
Three hands alone can end the blight,
And pierce the heart of endless night.