A nighttale for Astherian Younglings, transcribed from the Dreamscrolls of Abyssal Kin Elders
As gathered and retold by High Lumenwright Lyraen Vaelith of the Skyward Cradles
To be read aloud during Dimmershade or Auroral Fall by nestkeepers, mentors, and lumenwrights of the young.
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To those entrusted with the care of Skyfarer hearts:
In every Cradle, every floating hearth, and every moon-dappled classroom nestled between the clouds, there comes a time when lessons give way to dreams. When the scrolls are rolled, the quills put away, and the only thing a youngling wishes to hold is a story.
This tale—like the stars—was never meant to be studied. It was meant to be shared.
It is an echo from the old sky, a lullaby of wind and wonder meant to soothe curious minds and hush fluttering wings. These stories have been told for generations in the Skyward Cradles, and each retelling carries a little more of the teller's light. Teachers, guides, whisperers: read these words not as fact, but as feeling—as memory, as myth, as melody.
Let the tale carry them gently into the flow.
Tonight's story is of skies that remember, of storms that hum lullabies, and of strange songs that only children can hear. It is called:
"The Song That Held The Sky."
Ready your tone. Breathe with the wind. And when the time is right… begin.
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Long ago, before the sky cracked and the isles drifted like feathers in the wind, there was a song that no one sang, yet all could hear.
It came from deep within the bones of Astheria—an endless hum called the Vault Melody, whispered by the great Skywhale Aeyrion as he dreamed the world into rhythm.
Each note kept time, anchored mountains, lifted rivers, and stitched the stars to their paths.
To keep the song steady, the Celestial Architects shaped a great and hidden harp beneath the world, strung with flows of light and breath and silence. This harp was called the Vault Relay, and as long as it thrummed, the world danced in balance.
But music needs a conductor.
So the Architects crafted a Celestial Horn from the breath of a dying star, carved with runes and memory. With it, they could tune the Harp when storms made it quiver or when strange notes arose. This Horn was not played often—but when it was, even time itself would hush to listen.
Then came the Silence.
No one knows who severed the Harp-strings, or why Aeyrion stirred in sorrow—but the day the song broke, the sky tore open. Mountains rose screaming. Isles shattered like glass.
The Horn, caught mid-note, cracked and fell in pieces across the drifting world.
Now, the children of the sky live scattered across the silence. But some say the Horn's shards still sing to those who remember the melody.
And when it is whole again, the Harp might be tuned—and the great Skywhale may dream the world back into harmony once more.