O Dragon of Golden Flames, whose name the winds engrave,

You, who tore through the Purple Veil and crossed the Seven Gates:

When the Cursed Sea spat its mist of ruin,

It was you who rose your wings where fear had taken root.

Do you remember? On Draconia Isle, where waterfalls whispered secrets,

Your steps uncovered blackened springs, flowers nurtured by the abyss.

In the Cave of the Golden Library, you fought against ancient shadows,

And in the Lands of Fire, where banners cried for loyalty,

Your heart chose justice… and the price it demanded.

In the Gardens of Indira, where lying roots wove betrayal,

Your blade cut through the poison, freeing life from decay.

In the Underworld, where lost souls whispered prophecies,

Your fire purged the plague… but not without scars.

Ah, Celestial Dragon! When the Sky faltered and Ignis forged his despair,

Your flight pierced through lava, deaths, and portals—until the seventh step.

Now, in the Hall of Eternal Deeds, where heroes are remembered,

Your name shines among constellations that once doubted:

For you faced the Soul Machine, defied gods in fury,

And proved that a mortal dragon can reshape history itself.

Let this poem, inscribed in runes and falling eth stars,

Bear witness that your choices saved slumbering realms.

And should the purple mist return one day, choking the light,

The bards shall sing: “A golden dragon will come from the skies”!