Third Song of the Founding

In desert deep where hot winds moan,

Where shifting dunes hide ancient bone,

A city slept 'neath golden glare,

Its name a song upon the air.

Shal'Azura, lost to time,

A relic of an age sublime.

Yet whispered still in tongues of flame:

“One day the stars shall call thy name.”

That day it came with trembling ground,

With magic thrumming all around.

Three sages stood on marble white,

And drew the runes of skyward flight.

Zephyr the Deft with fingers swift,

Cuannur’s voice the winds did lift,

And Arsema, with eyes like glass,

Bent fate and future as they’d pass.

But none would let their task run clean—

For power draws the dark unseen.

So came the three with blades unbound,

To guard the spell upon that ground.

Xundeva Chen, whose hammers sing,

A shadow swift on silent wing.

Dorian “Fangbreaker,” sword high raised,

Through tooth and claw his name was praised.

And Runak Helmark, iron-born,

Who met the storm with frost and scorn.

The sand first shook with beasts below,

Serpents of ice their eyes aglow.

Elementals howled in rage,

Unleashed from some primeval cage.

But hammer, talon, greatsword fell

Turned each to ash or smoking shell.

The rite held strong, the chant grew bright—

The city yearned for skyward flight.

Then came a maw of endless thirst,

With hideous claws, its blood was cursed.

And horned monstrosity did climb,

From depths untouched by death or time.

But none could break the heroes' line,

Whose hearts beat fierce with will divine.

Each wound they took, they bore with pride—

The city's fate would not be denied.

At last, a roar split dusk from dawn,

And all the light of day was gone.

A dragon vast with wings outspread,

Whose breath turned rock to frozen red.

The sages faltered, spells grew thin—

As doubt and fear crept deep within.

But from the smoke rose Dorian’s cry:

“By my claw’s oath, you shall not fly!”

Xundeva’s eyes were stars on fire,

As Runak’s sword turned back the ire.

They danced with death in blazing arcs,

Their strikes like meteors leaving marks.

The dragon fell, but not in death—

It fled in fear, with ragged breath.

Chased by courage, blade, and song,

The battle raged, but not for long.

And then, the city rose at last,

Freed from its prison of the past.

Up through the sky, through cloud and hue,

To rest in airs where eagles flew.

The sands below wept crystal tears,

As legends bloomed from mortal years.

And in the skies, bold towers gleamed—

A city risen, long since dreamed.

Now bards sing soft ‘neath desert stars,

Of heroes bold and dragon scars.

Of sages wise who shaped the fate,

Of Shal'Azura's sky-bound state.

And should you walk where dunes still lie,

Look upward to the burning sky—

For there it floats, with winds to guide,

The city that refused to die.