Poem of the Black‑Wing Constellation
In the hush between stars, where the void holds its breath,
the Black‑Wing rises — seven spirits in silent accord.
Baldrlj\xf3s, the sun‑raven,
falls like a burning verdict,
a blade of daylight cast into the dark.
Hrafnmyrkbera, the bearer of night,
moves with patient gravity,
carrying the hidden weight of war
so others may strike unburdened.
Nor\xf0rlj\xf3s, the northern flame,
shimmers across the battlefield,
a cold aurora guiding hunters through the dusk.
Hrafnr\xe1\xf0andi, the sovereign raven,
commands the moment of impact,
shaping chaos into purpose with a single will.
Hrafn\xfe\xf6gn, the silent herald,
waits in perfect stillness,
and with one unseen signal
opens the path to ruin.
Hrafnsl\xe6\xf0a, the veil‑raven,
draws back the shroud of night,
revealing the road for those who descend in fire.
And Ratatoskr, the world‑runner,
threads the roots of the void,
carrying secrets, fuel, and fate
between realms no wing can reach.
Together they move —
light and burden, silence and veil,
omen and authority,
bound by purpose in the endless dark.
Where the Black‑Wing travels,
the stars lean close to listen.