A duel of dragons, one hides his form,
A battle fierce, a tempest warm.

Through searing pain, I grit and fight,
To stand against this fearsome might.

As will falls low, my breath runs cold,
Alone I stand, yet firm and bold.

I've fallen here again and again,
Revived anew, I return, and then,

With one last strike, the deed is done,
But fire flares; the war's not won.

From crimson robes, the beast takes flight,
A dragon born of dying light.

The battle shifts, no time for doubt,
It is time for the next bout.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Glacian, in the year 967 AF.