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              DAME OF ELDRAETH: VOLS. 002.
     Within The Heart Of The Realm, There Were 
         Those Whose Grace Lent Color To The
                            Kingdom’s Soul. ⚚

They moved with quiet purpose, their presence soft yet shaping, like brushstrokes upon the canvas of courtly life. Where words faltered, their art spoke—through melody, fabric, and form, they wove the spirit of gentleness into the kingdom’s daily rhythm. Their halls were sanctuaries of stillness and creation, where patience bloomed and refinement took breath.

They tended not only to beauty, but to balance, teaching that elegance was not an ornament, but a way of being. And in every note, every thread, every whispered verse that lingered beyond their touch, the essence of the Dame of Eldraeth remained, quietly guiding the kingdom toward grace..  🦢
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             BETRLINÉ ELDRAETH AS GLOWSTILL
          “A melody that can hush the inner tempest
              this is the only real magic that exists.”
                                    (41:125.)

Eldraeth's tired rooms. The air is heavy with that low hum that seeps into old stone and weary bones. A simple melody becomes the only solace during such times. That gentle power works like quiet magic, slowly mending what feels broken, weaving calm into worn-out spaces. Through tumultuous hallways, notes float like dandelion seeds, finding cracks and touching hearts with quiet grace. Light drifts where darkness lingered, and the singing restores souls from the inside, carrying a tender strength that asks for nothing but to heal.

(The Glowstill persists... ✉️!)
A murmur in the quiet, transforming scars
into starlight and echoes into empathy.
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ㅤ ㅤ   ㅤ      ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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        GWYNETTE ELDRAETH AS FLUTTERGLOW
              “Some wounds are silence.Therefore,
                 a gentle hand is needed for them.”
       ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ                (41:125.)

Slow steps drifted through the invisible corridors of Eldraeth, where sorrow clung low, trapped in corners and beneath stones. The soft scent of crushed petals and weary herbs followed, the trail of healers long gone. Such touches recall which roots soothe the soul and which whispered words can calm a trembling heart before night falls. True healing does not come from strength, but from the gentle courage to sit with another's suffering. Healing requires small, sacred moments, like listening to silence and sitting beside shadows until they learn to dance again with light.

(The Flutterglow never dies... ✉️!)
It is an invisible protector, healing the
wounds of the soul with a silent, steadfast,
and loving presence.
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ㅤ ㅤ   ㅤ       ┈┄──┈┄ ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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   MAJESTIC FIRST OF ELDRAETH: VOLS. 003.
    The Earliest Children Gathered Beneath The
       Kingdom’s Wing Whose First Steps Gave
                      Rhythm To Its Heart. ⚚

They were not born of noble blood, but chosen through grace, lifted from silence into the music of destiny. Under the guidance of patient hands, they learned to speak through motion, their bodies becoming verses of devotion and resilience. Theirs was not a battle of blades, but of balance—each pirouette a triumph, each fall a vow to rise again with greater poise.

They became the kingdom’s living prelude, the first melody in a symphony that would echo for centuries. And though their names now shimmer only in whispered lore, the dance they began endures still, woven into every leap and turn that carries the realm’s eternal grace..  🦢
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　　 　KHIRAYU ELDRAETH AS SNOWCURVE
　　 “Her dance is the light that remembers
　　     how to bloom within the dark.”
ㅤ　　　　　　     (41:125.)

In the heart of the void, she moves a fragile flame adrift upon an endless lake of shadow. Every motion carves luminance from despair, shaping radiance out of ruin. Her ballet is not bound by gravity but by grace: the whisper of silk, the gleam of tears unfallen. As her steps spiral, light unfurls from her heels, weaving halos that wane and return like tides of memory. Each pirouette becomes a prayer; each leap, a defiance of oblivion. The abyss itself bends to her rhythm, shimmering under the weight of her resolve  for in her dance lies the power to heal what darkness devours.

(The Snowcurve glides... ✉️!)
A luminous wraith of movement and mercy,
the dancer who teaches shadows how to shine.
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ㅤ　　 ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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SHIMARION ELDRAETH AS STYGIAN WING
　　 ㅤㅤ“In every breath, a storm learns
　　 ㅤㅤ the language of sorrow.”
ㅤ　　　　　　　 (41:125.)

From the heart of Eldraeth’s echoing halls rises a voice that bends the air itself. His sings, and the silence kneels  every tone a tide that drags emotion from its hiding place. His voice carries the gravity of mourning and the splendor of dawn; it can fracture rage into tears or turn despair into trembling devotion. Each note is a command, each breath a spell sound becomes pulse, and pulse becomes reverence. He does not merely perform; he reigns over resonance, shaping the unseen currents of the soul.

(The Stygian Wing awakens... ✉️!)
A sovereign of sound and feeling,
the maestro who commands hearts through echoes.
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ㅤ　　 ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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　　 MICHIESA ELDRAETH AS VELVET WINGS
　　 ㅤ“Through strings of silk and sorrow,
　　  ㅤthe world dreams in his melody.”
ㅤ　　　　 (41:125.)

The moon’s hush trembles beneath his bow a whisper of starlight blooming in violet haze. Each stroke weaves visions upon the air: gardens of glass, oceans of memory, faces forgotten yet vividly alive. When he plays, the veil between sight and sound dissolves; music becomes color, and color becomes confession. His violin is a vessel of reverie, painting illusions that flutter like wings spun from dusk itself tender, trembling, and eternal.

(The Velvet Wings ascend...  ✉️!)
A dream sculptor of sound and shimmer,
the enchantress of ephemeral visions.
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ㅤ　　 ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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   MAJESTIC FIRST OF ELDRAETH: VOLS. 003.
    The Earliest Children Gathered Beneath The
       Kingdom’s Wing Whose First Steps Gave
                      Rhythm To Its Heart. ⚚

They were not born of noble blood, but chosen through grace, lifted from silence into the music of destiny. Under the guidance of patient hands, they learned to speak through motion, their bodies becoming verses of devotion and resilience. Theirs was not a battle of blades, but of balance—each pirouette a triumph, each fall a vow to rise again with greater poise.

They became the kingdom’s living prelude, the first melody in a symphony that would echo for centuries. And though their names now shimmer only in whispered lore, the dance they began endures still, woven into every leap and turn that carries the realm’s eternal grace..  🦢
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　　 THIAGO ELDRAETH AS ECHOFROST
　　ㅤ “Where strength meets silence,
　　 ㅤㅤㅤ ice learns to burn.”
ㅤ　　　　　　ㅤ (41:125.)

Forged in the chill of dawn, Thiago moves like the rhythm of a storm restrained. His breath carries frost, his strikes echo with the pulse of ancient tempests. A mentor in the art of endurance and will, he tempers bodies as he tempers spirits through clash, through cold, through quiet resolve. When his elemental power awakens, the air crystallizes with purpose; flames freeze mid-flight, and thunder bows before his calm precision. He is both mentor and mirror revealing one’s strength through every shatter and stillness.

(The Echofrost endures.. ✉️!)
A sentinel of balance and discipline,
the frostbound flame that trains both body and soul.
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ㅤ　　 ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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　　 AMAIRE ELDRAETH AS BLOOMPATH
　　 “Colors remember what words forget, and
ㅤㅤdreams bloom where her brush has passed.”
ㅤ　　　　　　　　(41:125.)

She paints not with pigment, but with pulse each stroke humming with quiet divinity. Her canvas breathes; petals unfold from empty air, rivers carve their way through silence, and the wind itself pauses to watch creation take form. Every hue she conjures is a spell, every motion a whisper to the unseen.
Through her art, forgotten worlds awaken a garden of memories blooming between realms of thought and reality. She does not merely paint what she sees; she paints what longs to exist.

(The Bloompath unfolds... ✉️!)
A dream-weaver of living colors,
the sorceress who turns imagination into being.
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ㅤ　　 ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ  ┈┄──┈┄
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ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ NATHFIAN ELDRAETH AS DUSKFLOAT
ㅤ ㅤ “The hands remember what the soul
ㅤ once shaped beneath the silent stars.”
ㅤ                             (41:125.)

Within Eldraeth’s dim halls, the forge of Duskfloat breathes like an old prayer, its embers whispering to the unseen. Memory bends into form, light and shadow entwined in relics that hum with sorrow, wonder, and time. Each spark carries a trace of forgotten dreams, binding silence to steel. From solitude’s anvil, art is born, where dusk never falls, it floats, suspended between creation and remembrance. Here, even the air bears the scent of burnt starlight, and the stones hum with quiet reverence for what once was. In the hush between hammer and flame, the heart learns to remember what the world has long forgotten.

(The Duskfloat endures... ✉️!)
A quiet architect of enchanted remnants,
forging the unseen into eternity.
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ㅤ   ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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ㅤ     NABIETHA ELDRAETH AS SWANSHINE
          ㅤ “Grace is the language the wind
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ learns from her silence.”
ㅤ                               (41:125.)

In the moonlit courtyards of Eldraeth, Swanshine moves like a whisper between breaths. Each step she takes bends the air into rhythm, each turn a spell that carries both sorrow and serenity. Her dance is not bound by music—it creates it, weaving gusts of wind into melodies that shimmer like silver over still waters. The air trembles at her command, shaping storms into poetry and stillness into light. Through her motion, the unseen finds form, and the wind remembers how to sing again.

(The Swanshine drifts... ✉️!)
A waltz of air and quiet divinity, where
motion becomes magic, and grace becomes power.
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ㅤ ㅤ   ㅤ   ┈┄──┈┄  ִ  ᝰ.ᐟ  ׄ ┈┄──┈┄
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   MEDIAN DYNASTY OF ELDRAETH: VOLS. 004.
         Those Who Stood Between Legacy And
       Becoming Still Learning The Rhythm That
                Would One Day Be Their Own. ⚚

Born beneath the echoes of their predecessors, they carried both reverence and restlessness in every step. Theirs was a season of discovery—of trembling balance and soaring promise, where imperfection danced beside brilliance. Guided by tradition yet drawn to innovation, they sought the fine thread between discipline and dream.

Within mirrored halls, their laughter mingled with music, their missteps with courage. And though they were not yet masters of grace, the light within their motion foretold a future, one where the dance would evolve, and the kingdom would remember them not as students, but as the pulse of what was yet to come..  🦢
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