Where mountains pierce the thunderous sky,
Ragnahawk screeches, wings held high.
Feathers of storm, eyes bright with flame,
A harbinger of fury, whispering its name.
Once protector, vigilant and bold,
Guiding the peaks, stories untold.
But greed bloomed dark, and balance frayed,
Twisting the wind, chaos displayed.
With lightning claws and tempest sigh,
It guards its domain, beneath a blackened sky.
Thunder booms, echoing its might,
Defying shadows, with storm-born light.
Legends speak of power untold,
Whispers of wind, stories yet unfold.
Can peace descend, where tempests rage?
Or will fury consume, in a darkened cage?
Through windswept valleys and peaks untold,
Ragnahawk circles, a story bold.
Hope flickers faint, amidst the storm,
Will harmony return, when skies are warm?
But deep within, a memory gleams,
Of peaceful skies, bathed in sunlit beams.
Perhaps the hawk, with wings of might,
Can find redemption, set the world aright.
So let it soar, a tempest’s grace,
And from the fury, hope embrace.
For Ragnahawk holds, a hidden key,
To mend the world, and finally, be free.