Welcome, Drako, last of golden fire,

Thy kin lost to the purple tide’s despair;

Draconia weeps as cursed waters conspire,

Claiming souls who to the deep do dare.

Thou art summoned, as of old Elandor’s call,

Through seven portals to thy destiny’s height;

Be our hero, let thy valor enthrall,

And restore our hope with thy radiant might.

Follow the waterfalls where secrets reside,

Unravel the curse with draconic pride.

Behold, the cursed purple tide doth taint our land,

And all us fish now ponder flight from fate so grand.

Some perish in the poison, others in strange mutation sway,

Yet I, a fortunate soul, have kept the dark at bay.

But if the purple current ever ceaseth not to flow,

I too must venture onward, for long I cannot slow.

Heed my call, O wanderer, seek the caves profound—

In the Golden Library Cave, ancient lore is found.

There, in the Waterfall Cave, speak with Ketus of our plight,

And learn of the infection that shrouds us in its blight.

Remember well, brave traveler, secrets of this isle run deep;

Tread lightly on its mystic paths, for truth is thine to reap.

En garde, brave soul, heed my tale of the mystic blue,

Of purple water’s curse and secrets ancient and true.

My master spake of a relic, in the realm of ice confined,

A purple block, the first discovered upon this isle enshrined.

Guarded as a treasure, evidence of lore so grand,

Any who seek its wonder must take up arms and stand.

For in the frozen depths, no gentle peace is found—

Only fierce, relentless battles upon this hallowed ground.

So join us here, where training forms the soul and might;

Gather thy comrades, step into the fray and fight.

For in the art of slow-motion duels, wisdom is made known—

Embark upon this quest, and let thy true power be shown!

Behold, the last of golden fire,

A dragon rare, in fate’s grand choir.

I thought thy kin had met their end

When purple waters did descend.

Thy parents, famed in lore and song,

A king so just, whose rule was strong,

Spoke of days ere purple block did rise,

When Fire Realm’s tide transformed before our eyes—

A slender vapor in the skies at one set hour,

A fleeting glimpse of nature’s hidden power.

I, confined to lands I know,

Have ne’er beheld that mystic show;

Yet thou, with courage, may explore

This wonder on a distant shore.

But heed, for in that fiery land

Politics do reign, and hearts command.

Two factions strive with stolen flags in hand—

They’ll bid thee choose, so make thy stand.

Let justice guide thy noble quest,

For destiny awaits the truest and the best!

O Drako, hearken! Lythariel’s light now cradles thy kin,

Yet darker tides thou chasest—the vapor’s venomous sin.

‘Ere I unveil its cursed source, a pact we must swear:

Seize the Republic’s standard, lest ours be stripped bare.

The Fire Realm’s drums thunder; their cause demands blood,

To choose a side is to wield justice’s flood—or mud.

Behold the haze, a shroud where withered winds groan,

Yet seek its heart not here, but in the wilds unknown.

Through forests that whisper or deserts that scald,

Follow the stones, their lilac glow your guide through the squall.

But Drako, take heed! Let no shadow obscure

The fire in thy breast, or the oaths thou hold’st pure.

For the mist’s lure is subtle, its whispers a snare—

Stand steadfast, true soul, and allies will bear thee where

Light cleaves the poison… and kingdoms await thy repair.

Behold! A dragon cloaked in sunfire’s hue—

What legends thread thy wings, what odes pursue?

To this gray-scaled watcher, worn by years,

Sing of the garden where no mortal dares tread,

Where black flowers drink from a fountain’s bed,

And poison flows—purple, thick with fears.

There, Indira’s magic binds life to decay,

A verdant mask o’er corruption’s sway.

Heed, young flame: tread not where shadows twist,

Lest roots ensnare thee, or kin be missed.

Yet thy amber gaze may pierce the veil,

Unmask the rot ‘neath the garden’s pale.

If this be thy first flight, thy maiden tale,

Grant this boon to one whose strength doth fail:

Retrieve the tome that whispers forgotten lore,

And find the child my wings can chase no more.

For age has sapped my wrath’s once-mighty roar—

Her laughter haunts these bones… and I implore.

O Drako, seeker of petals as black as the void,

Heed an old gardener’s plea—lest hope be destroyed:

Aid me in purging this garden’s deceit,

Where false roots strangle what life would entreat.

By the fountain they dwell, where waters run clean,

Till twilight descends and the veil turns unseen.

When violet tides rise from the abyss below,

The demon’s domain shall its grim portal show.

There, in the depths where the damned seldom tread,

A fiend molds poisons to choke the unwed

(For the flowers once golden now wither, defiled,

Their hues stolen by waters from realms unreconciled).

But dare you descend where the pestilence breeds,

Where the dead’s whispered plague plants its venomous seeds?

You may emerge scarred, your soul’s flame grown dim—

A stranger to light, or a specter in skin.

Yet if your heart dares, if your resolve stands tall,

Strike down the blight’s master… and reclaim life’s hall!

Hark, Drako! The plague’s breath chokes high and low—

Dragon and shade writhe in its violet glow.

If thou’lt brave its sting, I’ll unspool my tale:

No villain by birth, but a king clad in gold,

Guardian of scrolls, with a queen wise and bold,

A sire whose heir made his heart swell with pride…

Till the venom surged, drowned the libraries’ light.

I marched to save them—and vanished from sight.

Does Celia sing still in the Gilded Vault’s night?

Fly, sun-scaled fool! For the rift spills its bane—

Heaven’s own hand steers this carrion reign.

Three roads to the skies: The teleport’s spark (now cloaked in despair),

Death’s double-edged gamble (a soul may snare),

The Sevenfold Path—through lava’s fierce kiss,

Where portals test resolve, oath, and thy wit.

At the Sixth Arch, take wing! Pierce the Seventh’s cold veil,

And demand of the gods why they let virtue fail.

O golden intruder in skies divine—

Why tread Heaven’s forge when Draconia’s shores are thine?

Yet through thy veins flows water amethyst-born,

A key to the Portal where life clashes with scorn.

Thou art dragon-perfected: blade, shield, and flame,

So heed Heaven’s requiem, its lament without name.

When Lythariel fled to reclaim the Crown’s light,

Our eternity cracked, and souls slipped into night.

Ignis, the star-smith, in anguish conceived

A machine that distills what the void had bereaved—

Souls rendered liquid, a glass-frail reprieve,

A cure steeped in sorrow that few dare believe.

But thou, young aurora, mayst rewrite this tale:

Rest where thy mother’s soft starlight prevails,

Hone thy claws ‘gainst archangels’ might,

Then soar where Lythariel hides from Heaven’s sight.

Recover the Jewels ere the machine’s final breath,

Or Heaven dissolves into silence… and draconic death.