I. Bound by Time’s Embrace

Time delivers a message with solemn structure,

Our longing bound by hours we do not own,
Jointly we speak vows sealed in rapture.
Yet bound we remain, though we stand alone.

We taste time passing in each fractured breath,

Pressed are our woes, and echoed our refrains,
For solitude waits at the edge of death.
In our limitation we feel the strains.

Betwixt hope and fear we seek the day,

We weigh our hearts in every quiet glance,
Nobility and utility, God’s light guides our way.
A noise of thought narrates this time-bound dance.

At last, our hearts lock in silent commitment,
A sacred truth beyond Time’s mere measurement.

II. To The Mortal Seeker

Time speaks in forms no chaos may distort,
In vows inscribed on breath, not blood or stone.
Meet Truth beneath the stars, in a sacred court,
To bind your longing, Light stands alone.

Though hours may flee, the pulse remains aligned,
Each glance, a mark of order’s quiet flame.
Within restraint, a deeper peace you’ll find,
For what you repute, you call the world to name.

A square of thought, emotion in measured grace,
Where will and wisdom tilt with equal strain.
You taste eternity in time’s embrace,
And hold your joy with hands that welcome pain.

Into the void where breath and fire align,
Never alone, loved by the Lord sublime.

II. The Lord Warns the Seeker

“Take heed, O soul who seeks the threads unseen—
Not every Wisp leads you to the flame.
The Hollow Tongue, though sweet, is sharp and mean,
It speaks of freedom, but forgets your name.

It does not stir, it does not weave or sing,
It only breaks what others dare to build.
Its silence is a noise that chokes the spring,
Its dark is not the dusk, but light unfilled.

Dreams must guard the flame, not cross the line.
Between the making hand and breaking ploy.
Let not your wonder blur the clear design—
In faith, not blandish, be that which dreams employ.

So carry truth within your mortal breath,
And speak no word that hastens beauty’s death.

A Paradox

I. The Weaving of Phantasia

Before the mortal realm drew breath or name,
The Lords of Time, and Light, and Truth did dream.
They shaped a world with melody that played in flame,
Where all stars sang and harmony sewed each seam.

In Phantasia they breathed the first great sigh—
Not ruled by flesh, but by spiral form and logic led.
Its roots of runes formed a bell tolled sky,
Its laws were rung where no tongue spoke dread.

No clock chimed, no sun yet learned to climb—
But Light as strings drawn in harmony and hue.
The Lord then breathed: “Let this exist beyond Time—
A realm where myth is real, and Truth is true.”

Thus Phantasia was composed from eternal hands—
A world not made, but sung into Hallow lands.

II. Nihra — Wisp of the Silent Start

Between what was and what may yet still be,
I stood where stars were born of breath and will.
Two voices danced in silent symmetry—
The void and flame, bright and dark, never still.

First born was Nihra, before thought took wing,
The breath not drawn, the page before the mark.
No star yet sang, no string began to ring—
She dwelled within the void, serene and stark.

The Lord beheld her silence with a bow,
For from her stillness, form would one day rise.
She is the question time would not allow,
The void that came before creation’s skies.

And though she spoke but once, her word remains—
The pause from which the cosmos drew its veins.

III. Vireon — Flame of Infinity

The Lord created Vireon, where boundaries fail to define,
A spiral drawn in stars that do not sleep.
No edge can cage his breath, no hand can draw his line.
The pulse that wakes the silence from its deep.

Where Nihra waits, he dances without cease—
A flame that leaps through dream, through dust, through name.
Creation bends to catch his swift release,
And chaos sings in patterns shaped by flame.

He is the heartbeat time was born to chase,
The shimmer stretched across the void’s embrace.
He never rests, for time itself awakes—
His fire consumes the pause that Nihra makes.

And in their touch, the first great thread is spun—
The world begins where stillness meets the one.

IV. The Seeker Compares Creation

No fruit, no fall, no Faythorn serpent’s lie—
But love that dared the space between to swell.
And in their gaze, I saw my query, my own reply—
Not paradise, but where I alone once fell.

No absence, but a fullness yet unshown,
A cradle shaped for every yet-to-be.
I moved like a pause between the tone,
A sound strung through eternity.

She—Nihra—bent like dawn into the flaming light,
He—Vireon—blazed through absence like a vow.
Their spiral wove dark to day, then again into night,
Shaping creation with neither why nor how.

Their story told beneath my dream’s disguise:
Creation lives where love and lack of, entwine.

V. The Seeker’s Eyes Are Opened

I watched the dark where nothing dared to move,
A stillness vast as breath that never came.
Light struck the silence with a chord to prove
That time could pulse within a world of flame.

I saw the spiral—measure, beat, and thread—
To bind the light in shape and law and tone.
The Lords said, “Memory guides where you were lead,
to this place where myths stand and Truth is known.

Yet as I watched, a shadow touched my thought—
What if my fears drown the song they make?
What if, through doubt, forgetfulness is wrought,
Or harmony is broken for memories sake?

Still I begin. The silence must be stirred.
Let Time unfold the meaning of these words.

VI. The First Murmurs

Nihra, Wisp of the void, silent start,
Breathes softly from the edges of all things:
“I am the void, the pause, the hollow heart—
The stillness from which every reverb springs.

But shall I lose myself if I am stirred?
Will flame unmake the silence that I keep?
If I awake, will I be seen—or blurred?
What dreams are shattered when I cease to sleep?

Fearing that Vireon burns too fierce, too wild—
That form may shatter where his flames arise,
That all this new-sprung light, as a newborn child,
Might flare, then vanish—scatter through the skies.

“I hold no weight, no shape, no name to say,
Yet cold-still this birth, that it might not fade away.”

VII. Vireon Responds to the Still

Then Vireon, a spiral crowned in flame,
Replies, “I blaze where no end dares to be.
From stars to atoms, I remain the same—
A song without a final symphony.”

Vireon leaps through webs of starlight, fire-strung lace,

Then dances across the firmament, setting stars ablaze.

He leaves a trail of waking chaos in his place.

A blaze that sings but cannot find its phrase.

“Without your still my fire burns unbound—
A storm that builds but never learns to form.
Your silence gives my music shape and sound,
You calm the eye within my endless storm.

You pause, as I extend in every breath—
I am your chase that outlasts even death.”

VIII. They Dance

They circle close in rhythm undefined,
Drawn by the hush and surge of tide and flame.
Nihra asks, “Can void and rising be entwined?”
Vireon laughs, “Your silence speaks my name.”

“You are the whole,” she whispers with a start.
“But wholeness longs to touch a missing part.”

He laughs a galaxy of shining rings:
“I hold all things—but you, you hold the key.
Without your pull, I am just noise that sings;
Your absence gives a frame that sets me free.”

Their domains bend, their pulses catch and spin—
Vastness kisses places where all things end and begin.

IX. The Union

The empty unmade itself to let them be,
As form and formless weave a paradox.
They dance in spirals, neither land nor sea,
In void-lit dreams and light that shatters clocks.

One claims, “With song I shape the stars anew,”
As one vanishes into all, and all grows still,

the dream made firm, the sky is then made true.
Where silence bares the remnant of their will.

In this bright dark, no borders can remain—
They loop, unbound by time or single plane.
From void comes the womb of endless birth,
From endlessness, the shape of fleeting worth.

In union vast and void alike, they unfurl—
And thus begins the edge of every world.

X. Revelation Beneath the Spiral Sky

By Time, Light, and Truth—in breath and blaze,
that kissed the void and taught the dark to sing—
I watch their dance unmake the emptiness of haze,
Then braid the stars with flame and spiral wing.

He burns—a pulse that dares to stretch and span.
She curves—a void that holds the space between.
Yet neither rules, and neither bows to plan—
Their union births all things that might have been.

I saw in them the shape of all we are:
Not perfect light, nor some eternal fall,
But longing, grace, and paradox made star—
A love that dares to make, not just recall.

So now I know: the world is not decreed.
It’s woven where desire and stillness lead.

XI. The Question

“So do we live?” sighed Nihra, soft and low.

Vireon’s grin curved like a comet’s flight:
Nihra—“Are we just pause and pulse—or more than show?”

Vireon—“We are the kiss between the day and night.”

Nihra sighed, “Brief is mortal life and undefined—

We now recall with grace, that none can blame,
Yet still we seek, and in union we bind—

The voice, the flame… the human frame.”

They held, unheld, then vanished in a ring—
A joke, perhaps, creation forgot to name—

A paradox in love, an—everything,
As every pattern starts and ends the same.

The stars burn on while silence hums below—
A lullaby in flame, the dark still knows.