Artemis once fervently smiled at the moon,

The eyes who witnessed her fair smile swoon,

And those, touched by her grace—

Saw their chains start to unbind to the abyss of a maze. 

Gifts that come from her innocent tone,

Were given to mere mortals who became too eager for it to hone.

Her only wish is for them to cherish the chalice of truth—

That no harm should ever be shone;

Alas, the crown falls to all the brutes.

Since then, the crowd cried as they forsook the huntress of the moon.

Whispers of the west continue to exist—

As the crimson banner continues its dance,

the longing hearts in the east are full of distress in their eyes.

Our touch disappears,

Lost in the sway of time in the north.