Come closer, children. Sit by the fire. The mountain wind is restless tonight. When I was young, my grandmother gathered us just like this and taught us the old songs. Tonight... I will tell you the tale of the Arcane Dragon. Listen well. One day, you will tell it to children of your own. Ой, тавлан, ой... Ой, хелаву, ой... Кив айдава... Тавлан хелаву... Before the first king wore a crown, Before our fathers built this town, She watched the snow on mountains high Through seventy thousand winters' sky. Five threads of power in her keeping, Stone and cloud beneath her feet; The valleys changed, the kingdoms faded, Yet still her watch was never broken. Who watched us then? Who watches still? The Fivefold Guardian on the hill! Who holds the pass when war drums rise? (Ой, хелаву!) The one with ancient eyes! Who taught the runes to mortal hands? (Кив айдава!) The guardian of our lands! Ой, тавлан, ой! Ой, хелаву, ой! From elder to child, let the old song fly! They say the stars once called her forth To leave our little world behind. Yet she remained beside the mountains, Among the brief lives of mankind. She broke the silence of the dragons, Gave their tongue a mortal sound; She taught our hands the ancient symbols, And carved their wisdom into stone. Who taught you all these words to sing? My mother sang them every spring. Who holds the pass when war drums rise? (Ой, хелаву!) The one with ancient eyes! Who taught the runes to mortal hands? (Кив айдава!) The guardian of our lands! Ой, тавлан, ой! Ой, хелаву, ой! From elder to child, let the old song fly! Then iron climbed the mountain road, A hundred thousand shields in snow. They came to take the guarded pass, They thought no hand could turn them back. No arrow flew, no sword was lifted; Fivefold power split the sky. At dawn the wind moved through the valley— Not one banner left to fly. Hush, my child. Don't praise the ashes. Do not count her worth in graves. She could leave these fields in ruin, Yet she chose to guard the grain. Kings grow old and children follow, Stone by stone our cities rise. What she gave was more than thunder: Words of power we still inscribe. Does she know the songs we sing? We cannot know, my little one. But sing them when the winter comes, As I was taught when I was young. Who holds the pass when war drums rise? (Ой, хелаву!) The one with ancient eyes! Who taught the runes to mortal hands? (Кив айдава!) The guardian of our lands! Ой, тавлан, ой! Ой, хелаву, ой! From elder to child, let the old song fly! When my voice is gone, who sings? I will sing what you taught me. And when your children ask of her? Кив айдава... Тавлан хелаву... Ой, тавлан, ой... Ой, хелаву, ой... Tomorrow night. Come before the fire burns low. Tonight you learned of the dragon who guarded the mountains. Tomorrow... I will tell you of golden banners crossing distant worlds. Of kings who opened their gates... and kings whose walls became dust. I will tell you what happens when the wind turns azure... and the Wind Dragon comes. Sleep now, little ones. Tomorrow, the old song continues. [Final gusle note] [End]
