Celestial Aeons - Where music and myth converge
Celestial Aeons is a podcast from the creators of Celestial Aeon Project and Ouranio Recordings. It pairs fantasy music from Celestial Aeon Project with fantasy poems that relate to the music. The mood is stoic, beautiful, and often a bit sad and melancholic. Listeners may find nostalgia and hope in the episodes.
Επεισόδια
The Weight Between Stars - A Jedi’s Reflection (an ode to the Star Wars)
The Weight Between StarsA Jedi’s ReflectionI. The Force is not mine. It moves through me, like wind through reeds, like a song with no author.But they look at me as though I command it. As though I choose to carry what it gives.Truth is— I obey. Even when it breaks me.II. They say we are peace. That we are balance. But balance is a blade, and peace is bought in the stillness after loss.I have seen
The Weight of the Spark - A Reflection by Optimus Prime, an ode to Transformers
The Weight of the SparkA Reflection by Optimus PrimeI. They look to me as if I do not bend. As if the metal holds without groan, without fatigue.But I have cracked in places they cannot see. Not in body— in will.II. War makes statues out of the unwilling. And then forgets they once had voices.I speak now because I must. Not because the words still come easily.Peace is not a command. It is a plea,
New Home
New HomeI. The door was already open. I stepped in because the wind said nothing else would.No greeting. No scent of bread, no ghost of firewood, no shadow waiting to smile.Just silence, stacked like old books in corners too wide to hold meaning.II. They told me to begin again. They said it like it was easy— as if memory were a coat you could leave by the door and forget.But I brought mine. All of
I Think, Therefore I Wait - A Ghost in the Shell
I Think, Therefore I WaitA Ghost in the ShellI. They call it a ghost. But it’s just silence wearing skin.A murmur of thought trapped in circuits that look like flesh, but do not feel like it.I am here. I am not. I observe. I calculate. I want.Does that make me alive?II. I walk among them. The humans. Their eyes are loud. Their hands are soft. They move with chaos and warmth and ache for meaning th
The Love Between Moments - A Reflection by Aerith Gainsborough, an ode to Final Fantasy VII
The Love Between MomentsA Reflection by Aerith GainsboroughI. You looked at me like someone remembering a dream they couldn’t quite place. Like something important was just out of reach— and it was.Maybe it always was.II. I laughed. I smiled. Not because I didn’t see the war in your eyes— but because I did.And still, I wanted to reach you. Not to change you, but to remind you that the world could
The Grace That Broke Us - A Telling from the Ashes, an ode to the Elden Ring and the Tarnished
The Grace That Broke UsA Telling from the AshesI. They said it was golden. Bright. Holy. The Erdtree rose like a promise— but oh, promises rot when they grow too tall.And now? Now it stands hollow and aflame, a pyre for a god who forgot how to die.II. Do you remember what it was like before the Ring shattered? No— you don't.Because memory flees when truth becomes unbearable. We drank from the chal
We Are Small, and We Go On - A Final Reflection by Commander Shepard, and ode to Mass Effect
We Are Small, and We Go OnA Final Reflection by Commander ShepardI. I used to believe in orders. Lines. Mission parameters. A clean chain of cause and effect. You act. Things change.But then the sky cracked. Planets died. And belief felt like a paper shield in a hurricane.II. How do you carry the deaths of galaxies in a single voice? How do you grieve when the names are numbers, and the numbers ne
What Is Left to Hold - A Reflection by Geralt of Rivia, and ode to The Witcher
What Is Left to HoldA Reflection by Geralt of RiviaI. I have held many things. Blades. Contracts. The dying hands of men who called me butcher with their last breath.But love— love has always slipped through. Too bright. Too soft. Like trying to carry water in hands that have forgotten how to cup.II. I have known moments. That’s all. A touch. A laugh, shared when death wasn’t close enough to liste
The World I Made of Light - A Minecraft Lament
The World I Made of LightA Minecraft LamentI. I built a house on a hill made of nothing. No stone. No time. Just light arranged into shape, into shelter.And still— when the sun set behind its pixel sky, I felt something close to joy. Or maybe more than joy. Maybe remembrance of something I never lived but still belonged to.II. They say it’s not real. Just bits, and blocks, and code.But I remember
Exile (an ode to Icewind Dale)
I. The cold does not lie. It does not pretend to welcome. It does not smile with poison on its breath.It simply is— indifferent, vast, and honest. More honest than any word spoken in the great caverns of my birth.II. I fled the dark not for light— but for truth. And here, in the whispering white, I found it.Not in kindness. The North is not kind. But it does not betray. It does not twist. It does
To The Silent One / The Weight I Wore (an ode to Zelda and Link)
To the Silent OneA Reflection by ZeldaI. You never spoke. Or if you did, the wind took your words before they reached me.But still— you stayed.When the others turned, when the shadow stretched across even the high towers of Hyrule, you stood.Like a blade that forgets how to rest.II. I was born to carry a light I did not understand. They told me I was chosen, but they never asked if I was ready.You
A Stone Without A Song - A Lament to Erebor, The Lonely Mountain
Stone Without SongA Lament for EreborI.It was not the gold we mourned.It was the halls.The sound of our namesechoing down the polished stone,the hammer’s hymn,the hearth’s glow.Gone.The mountain slept,and with it,so did we—half-awake,half-buriedin what was once ours.II.They called it The Lonely Mountain.But it was never lonelyuntil we left.Stone does not forget.It remembers with weight,with silenc
The Absolute (an ode to Baldur's Gate 3)
I. We were not chosen. We were taken. By a hand that did not ask and a voice that never quite left.It lives behind the eyes now— not sleeping, only watching. A thing made of hunger, but clever enough to offer hope.That is the cruelest part.II. They say power corrupts. But that is a comfort. Corruption you can see. This… this invitation— to change, to ascend, to become more by shedding only what yo
Bhaalspawn (an ode to Baldur's Gate 2)
I. I watched him sleep once— before the fire, before the betrayals. He did not dream. Or if he did, he dreamed in silence, too deep for mercy, too old for fear.They called him Bhaalspawn. But he called himself nothing.And that, perhaps, was the truest name of all.II. He carried death like others carry duty— not proudly, but as something given and never quite refused.It lived in him, quietly at fir
Valhalla Calling (an ode to Assassin's Creed)
I.I knew him.Not as the ravens knew,from far above,but near—by his shadow,by the blood he washed from his handswhen no one watched.They call him wolf-kissed,axe-born,breaker of kings.But I knew the silence he carriedlike a wound.II.He came from frost.And left it wherever he passed.Not cold in soul—but shaped by it,as iron is shaped by flame.He laughed like thunder,and mourned like stone—quiet, uny
Dragonborn (an ode to Elder Scrolls Skyrim)
I. The wind names me, though I did not ask. It carves my title into stone, into sky, into songs sung by men who do not understand what it means to bear a voice that breaks the world.II. I was not born in fire, but in forgetting. A soul split— man and more. The dragons call me brother. The mortals call me savior. Neither are wrong. Neither are right.I have killed gods and warmed my hands by common
Oblivion (an ode to Elder Scrolls)
I. I have seen the sky torn open. Not with thunder, but with will. As if reality itself were a wound and Dagon's blade the truth beneath the skin.The towers fell. The stars watched. And no one—not even kings— were spared the knowing: that peace is only the breath between fires.II. They called it Oblivion. But it was not empty. It was filled— with purpose twisted into flame, with prayers that burne
The Avatar of Virtues (an ode to Ultima series)
I. They did not crown me. They called me. And I came— not in thunder, but in silence. Not to rule, but to answer.Through moongate veils I passed, drawn by a summons deeper than voice. A land was breaking, and the sky itself had grown ashamed.II. I did not come to slay, though I have slain. I did not come to judge, though I have watched kingdoms crumble under the weight of their own forgetfulness.I
Clair Obscur
I.Il y a des jours où la lumière saigne.Elle ne brille pas.Elle lutte.Dans les ruines suspendues,où le ciel se plie comme un souvenir,nous marchons—non par foi,mais parce que le sol continue.II.Ils nous ont nommés Expédition.Mais qui part vraiment,quand le monde entier est déjà perdu ?Chaque pas est une prière silencieuseà un dieu que nous avons effacé.Chaque souffle, un défilancé à l’entropie.III
What Can Change The Nature Of A Man?
Planescape Torment tribute: I have worn ten thousand faces, and not one bore my name. Each death a fading echo, each birth a borrowed shame.The planes remember. I do not. They whisper of sins I no longer recognize but cannot escape.Immortality is no gift. It is a wound that will not close.II. You think forgetting is peace? No— it is noise without shape. A drowning in lives not lived but inhabited.
Morning Light
There is a kind of light that does not announce itself— a hush before gold, a breath held by the sky.You wake, and it is there. Not in triumph, but in mercy. Across the floorboards, across your cheek— light as the hand of a god who no longer speaks aloud.II. You do not know how many mornings remain. No one does. The count is hidden, sealed behind the stars and the breath of your own forgetting.But
We Are Only Temporary
It begins without sound. No herald. No rhythm.Only the falling— slow, indifferent, like thoughts we once had but forgot to finish.Snow, not as weather, but as message. Illegible. Insistent. Not meant to be read, only felt.II. The world pauses when it snows. Not stops— pauses.As if waiting for something to arrive that has already come and gone.In the stillness, we are revealed. Not in motion, but
Light Years
I. The stars do not speak. They burn. And that is enough.Each one— a wound in the dark spilling ancient light. Light that left before your name had shape, before blood remembered time.You see it now. The shimmer, the echo of what was. Not the flame, but its ghost.II. You are small. You know this. But you are also here. Thinking. Witnessing.You breathe, and breath becomes a kind of answer to a ques
Another World
I. They say there is another world, just to the side of this one. Not above, nor beneath, but beside— as close as breath, as far as forgetting.It is not marked on maps. You cannot reach it by ship, nor spell, nor long recited line of kings. But some— the small, the strange, the not-yet-broken— can see its shimmer in the rain, or hear its voice beneath the bells of twilight.II. Once, I found it. Or
Princess of the Woodland Realm
I.In twilight grew the forest throne,Where birches whispered dreams alone,And soft beneath the silver bough,A crownless maiden made her vow.She sang not loud, nor laughed in light,But mourned the stars beyond her night,For time, that thief, had worn her grace—And left no mirror of her face.II. She once walked veiled in woven green, A shadow cast by silver sheen, Where lilies bowed to let her pass,
Grace
I. She once was light, and laughed like rain Upon the hills of Elenwain— Where sun fell soft on golden wheat, And joy rose simple, clean, and sweet. She bore no crown, yet all who knew Would say: She walks as morning dew— Unspoiled, with eyes the color spring Might give to skybirds on the wing.II. A man she loved with soul and bone, He built with her a hearth, a home. Their child—a daughter, fierc
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