By Targon, Warden of the Ancient Skies
Beneath the realm where eagles soar, And lofty winds begin to roar, In epochs lost, the tale's seed, A city born from cloud and deed.
Whispers stirred the silent ether, A vision sparked by the sky's own breather; Giants of air, with softest tread, Crafted a keep where none would dread.
With claws of time, and breath of stars, Targon's might carved spires from Mars. Each stone set with purpose and care, A citadel in the heavens fair.
Walls woven from the morning mist, Held aloft by magic's wrist, Bound by spells so ancient and pure, A sanctuary, safe and sure.
- Spiraled high, the towers gleam,
- Kissed by sunlight's softest beam,
- Watchful eyes in skyward gaze,
- Through the haze of endless days.
In the core, a dragon's heart,
Beat for the city, a vital part.
Targon's fire, his endless balm,
Gave life and light, a soothing calm.
####### The Inhabitants Arrive
Inhabitants from lands afar, Drawn to the city like a guiding star. Targon watched with gleaming eye, As they found a home in the sky.
######## Conclusion
And so the cloud city stands, serene, A testament to what has been. Targon's tale, from ages deep, Holds the city in enchanted sleep.