In ancient Draconia, where the skies burned bright,
Lived legends of dragons, beings of might.
Not creatures of terror, but spirits transcended,
By virtues unyielding, their souls were amended.
Seven great portals, the virtues did guard,
A path for the pure, for the vigilant, hard.
From Ardenvale's meadows, a youth did arise,
Elandor, the dreamer, with fire in his eyes.
The First Portal called, in obsidian it stood,
Its crimson runes glowing, deep in the wood.
“Prove your strength,” the voice echoed clear,
Through trials of anguish, he conquered his fear.
With each blow endured, his spirit did soar,
And the mark of Strength burned on his core.
To Aegirith’s plains, shrouded in mist,
The Second Portal gleamed, with a sapphire twist.
“Wisdom you seek, not in what you behold,
But in truths unseen, through riddles retold.”
A labyrinth mirrored, his future, his past,
Decisions of insight, the die was cast.
Not wealth, but learning, he chose as his aim,
And the blue mark of Wisdom was etched in his name.
In the Gorge of Shadows, where darkness did dwell,
The Third Portal flickered, its challenge a knell.
“Courage,” it roared, “is to face what you dread,
To walk through the fire when fear fills your head.”
The beast of his mind, illusions made real,
Elandor strode forth with trembling zeal.
When shadows dispersed, his heart blazed anew,
An orange flame glowed, where courage was true.
To Atherwyn’s desert, parched and forlorn,
The Fourth Portal glimmered, as dawn on the morn.
“Compassion,” it wept, “is the balm of the soul,
To ease others’ pain, though it takes its toll.”
The village in ruin, their thirst cried for aid,
Elandor gave all, though his strength decayed.
In their gratitude’s glow, his spirit found grace,
And a pink light of Compassion lit his face.
In Lys’thera’s vale, where marble peaks rose,
The Fifth Portal gleamed, its silver aglow.
“Justice,” it called, “is the balance of strife,
To weigh what is right and the cost of a life.”
A city divided, abundance and lack,
Elandor stood firm, though the odds pushed back.
A solution he forged, though none called it fair,
The silver of Justice adorned his care.
In Sylvaterra’s forest, where time seemed to sleep,
The Sixth Portal pulsed in the emerald deep.
“Patience,” it whispered, “is the gardener’s art,
To trust in the season, to wait with your heart.”
A barren tree stood, its branches all bare,
Elandor nurtured it, tending with care.
When green leaves emerged, the challenge was done,
And Patience’s glow marked what he’d won.
Through trials and travels, the virtues complete,
Elandor returned, his journey replete.
In Ardenvale’s heart, the Seventh appeared,
Golden and radiant, its voice revered:
“Septessence resides where all virtues align,
The union of essence, the divine within time.”
He stepped through the portal, the light it unfurled,
Transforming the village, enlightening the world.
From the skies above, a dragon did soar,
Elandor reborn, as Draconia’s lore.
No longer a seeker, but a guide to the land,
To help others rise, by virtue’s command.
Through Strength, Wisdom, Courage, Compassion, and more,
The portals of Draconia forever restore.
Thus ends the tale of Elandor’s flight,
A beacon of hope, in the dragon’s light.
