Threads of the Stray

In skies of shattered color, where fates entwine,

A fool awoke with luck as his only sign.

No crown, no call, just a stumble through storm,

Yuuken, the glitch, in a world unformed.

Silver scholar weaves runes of the tide,

Blue threads of doubt that he strives to hide.

Fire-mage burns with a reckless flame,

Defying the dark, whispering her name.

White blade kneels ‘neath prophetic weight,

Faith’s fragile glow through loss’s gate.

Dragon of old, with sarcasm’s purr,

Bows to the king, yet guards the stir.

Malleus looms on his thorn-wreathed throne,

“Weaver of worlds,” in echoes intoned.

“Stray thread, you fray what my hands have spun -

Yet hearts may mend what error has done.”

Through library lies and ravine-born fears,

Illusions of self and crystalline tears.

Not prophecy’s pawn but choice’s own art,

They forge their bond, a defiant heart.

When fate’s great loom begins to unwind,

Luck defies kings and the lost redefined.

No heroes chosen, no destinies sealed -

Just fools who refuse to bow or to yield.

In starlit silence, on hills far and free,

A figure waves - confused, smiling, he.

The world may forget what it cannot hold,

But family endures in the tales retold.