The Arc of Dreams in Elysia’s Skies

In Elysia, ‘twixt mountains high,
The Arc of Dreams did touch the sky,
A bridge to realms beyond our sight,
Where souls and whispers reunite.

A city draped in mourners’ veils,
With heavy hearts and sorrowed tales,
Yet once a year, on whispered night,
The Arc would gleam with ethereal light.

Forbidden to the common kin,
Only elders could begin
To cross its span, for legends told
Of prophecies in scripts of old.

A mortal’s step would break the seam,
Between life’s wake and death’s dream.
The balance, fragile, could be swayed,
So, by the elders, rules were laid.

Yet Aria, with raven hair,
Eyes deep with loss, a mournful stare,
Sought the Arc, her heart’s desire,
To quell her soul’s consuming fire.

For Orion, her twin, was lost,
A tragic fate, a heavy cost.
On the eve of whispers’ call,
She dared the bridge, defying all.

Lysander, guard with heart so true,
Chased Aria as winds blew.
The Arc, sensing steps not blessed,
Threw illusions, a haunting test.

Yet midst the bridge, a figure gleamed,
Orion’s shade, or so it seemed.
A warning he did softly give,
“Return, dear sister, Elysia must live.”

Tremors shook the ancient stones,
Echoing the city’s moans.
With Lysander firm by side,
Aria raced, time’s ebbing tide.

To the elders, she did plea,
“Let them cross, set spirits free!”
With prophecy’s weight in the air,
The decision was heavy to bear.

But in the end, the balance held,
By Aria’s plea, the tremors quelled.
The Arc sealed, its magic confined,
For generations, its secrets entwined.

Together, Lysander and Aria wrote,
Of the night, the Arc, the hope it brought.
A tale of love, of bonds unsevered,
In Elysia’s heart, it lived forever.