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Opening
Above the gates the colors do not war — they sing. But their choir is so vast it deafens: every hue draws out its own note, hearing none of its neighbors.
To wake the Prism-Heart I must weave this choir into a living harmony — and it will not fall silent even for a breath.
Ending
I wove the voices into one another, and the roar became a song — for the first time every color drew breath as one.
From the green key rises Viridia, the Verdant Bulwark: "I grew as a root through the whole spectrum. Lean on me — and I will hold you all."
The choir sings steady. Higher still lies the crucible, where light turns to flame.






