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They say the sky’s the limit, lad — A sailor’s hopeful lie, But there was once a sylph-born boy Who asked the wind just why. He watched the rain like others pray, Found shapes in every star, And swore the clouds were speaking truths No mortal meant to parse. For where we see but silver mist Or thunder’s rolling cry, He saw the past in vapour trails And futures drifting by. The wind would turn, the boy would smile, As if he’d known before — For every storm that touched his skin Had whispered him its lore. Oh Aether, sky-bound Aether, Who found no ceiling there, He climbed beyond the spoken height And found but open air. No limit writ in lightning’s vein, No boundary in blue — The heavens bent to meet the gaze That always saw them through. The Mist Rangers took him in Where Kemmeros stands high, Where visions blur in common lands But sharpen in the sky. They taught the boy to still the gale, To hold the threads of fate — For what is sight of all to come If one cannot dictate? He soared through Tempestarii halls Like stormlight split in two, A prodigy with silver eyes And certainty he knew. While Ouranos would bind the winds With caution, law and chain, The boy who mapped the constellations Would not be reined by rain. Oh Aether, storm-wise Aether, Young tempest crowned in flame, He read the strike before it fell And named it by its name. When elders spoke of measured skies And limits drawn in fear, He answered with an upturned gaze — “I have found none up here.” They say the duel was thunder-caught, That lightning split the dome — But some insist no rage was there, Just wind reclaiming home. For how can one outmatch a man Who’s seen the ending’s thread? The storm had lost before the first Bright syllable was said. Oh Aether, High Archimage! Youngest wind to reign! He raised the Celestial Observatory And charted star and rain. From cirrus veil to sapphire deep His legend rides the gale — For he who reads the endless sky Writes how the storms prevail.