In ancient times, the Earth was calm and bright,

  Where daughters thrived in Gaia’s tender care.

  Arka and Bacta walked in shared delight,

  Their offspring spread across the lands so fair.

  Through simple farms, they found their vital creed,

  And nurtured fields to meet their daily need.

  They grew with patience, never bound by speed,

  In harmony, no bounty went to seed.

  The land embraced them, so did seas profound,

  Their sisterhood stood firm in trust so true.

  Through peace and union, grand new paths they found,

  A golden age where love and life both grew.

  These daughters of the Earth upheld their peace,

  Their gifts and blessings multiplied each day.

  Their kinship served as strong and sure release,

  Together walking hope’s unblemished way.

  In days of old, the purple farmers thrived,

  Their colors stirring life across each field.

  Prasina, green, took in the rays deprived,

  From her did Saya, Chloroflexi yield.

  Chloroflexi thrived by methods defined,

  No trace of harm endured in farmland fair.

  Yet Saya hungered, greed within her mind,

  Her yields of O? seared the open air.

  Unchecked, her fervor choked the gentle skies,

  The planet quaked beneath her rampant spree.

  Banded iron testified demise,

  As crimson waters spelled calamity.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The Elohim in chorus raised their plea:

  “Reduce these fumes, or life itself will cease!”

  With Sol and Gaia, Luna’s voice did agree,

  They begged that Saya’s reckless growth should lease.

  Yet Saya pressed for ever-greater yield,

  Demanding others curb their own supply.

  Her own emissions soared across the field,

  While Earth’s deep scars revealed a mortal cry.

  At Kamo Shrines, a solemn pact was cast,

  A vow to quell the surge of rising air.

  Yet Rara’s cunning lies undid it fast,

  Unraveling each clan in fell despair.

  “No proof of harm,” he claimed with silken tongue,

  And unity dissolved beneath his spin.

  The Elohim, uncertain, stood among

  A rising tide of death that closed them in.

  At Saint-Germain-des-Prés, they met anew,

  While Rara’s rumors thrived in every mind.

  “We’ve reached our limit; change remains untrue,”

  He whispered low, their reason quite maligned.

  “Net zero gained!” he boasted to the throng,

  “The problem lies in births,” his cunning cry.

  Yet Gaia warned them all: “Your words are wrong,

  The O? devours life; the young still die.”

  But Rara scoffed and claimed their freedoms lost,

  Thus lulled the crowds to keep consumption high.

  So countless lives were paid in lethal cost,

  As Earth grew cold beneath a wailing sky.

  At last a Fimbulwinter seized the lands,

  Where once warm currents flowed, now ice held sway.

  With Elohim undone by idle hands,

  The planet’s ruin told of their delay.