Beneath the peaks where shadows brood,
In the mountaina quiet solitude,
A leader, once with vision clear,
Now stumbles lost, engulfed in fear.

Her voice, once strong, now whispers low,
A tale of dreams that failed to grow,
The weight of choices, heavy still,
The mountain trembles with her will.

Yet far above the shadowed steep,
The worthy hearts their vigil keep,
With light that cuts through deepest gloom,
They seek to heal the citya wound.

To those who yearn for brighter days,
And walk along these stony ways,
Their faith is firm, their courage bold,
In them, a tale of hope is told.

For every falter, every fall,
The innocent shall rise to call,
To mend the rift with gentle grace,
And lead the lost to safe embrace.

So let the shadows lift and part,
And light return to every heart,
For in their hands, redemption gleams,
A future bright, reborn in dreams.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Scarlatan, in the year 953 AF.