Beneath the velvet cloak of a world bathed in two moons, lived the Wiratama siblings, five souls woven from stardust and whispers of the unknown. They were the Zylae, keepers of a secret gateway to Aprivorn, a realm shimmering with impossible beauty and vibrant life.Eldest of the brood was Kieran Aryas Wiratama, born under the fiery kiss of September 16 1994, his spirit imbued with the wisdom of ancient redwoods. Zerenio Alistair Wiratama, the second-born, arrived with the February 17th 1996 breeze, his heart a tempest of untamed passion, a mirror to the season's wrath. Then came Lirastha Nasheliya Wiratama, a child of spring's gentle caress, her soul blooming with ethereal grace, born on the cusp of a new millennium, Febuary 18th 2000. Aefar, the August child, was born on August 17th 2002, held the sun's warmth in his laughter, his spirit forever dancing with the wind. And Veresa, the youngest, a wisp of starlight born on June 6th 2006, her eyes reflecting the mysteries whispered by fireflies.But their idyllic world fractured one fateful day. When the Zylae stepped into Aprivorn, their haven was not the tapestry of vibrant life they remembered. Aprivon lay in ruins, its once-joyful pulse replaced by an unsettling silence, its laughter choked by dust. Its heart, once alight with wonder, lay cold and still.Grief clawed at their souls, but The Zylae were not ones to surrender. Kieran, the stoic pillar, strategized. Zerenio's fiery spirit fuelled their resolve. Lirastha's gentle wisdom soothed their frayed edges. Aefar's boundless optimism painted hope onto the canvas of despair. And Veresa, the watchful observer, unearthed the secrets Aprivorn whispered in broken fragments.They toiled day and night, their hands blistered, their minds stretched thin. Kieran's meticulous plans clashed with Zerenio's impulsive leaps. Lirastha's quiet strength bridged the divide, her soothing melody calming the brewing storms. Aefar's boundless energy fanned the flickering flames of hope, while Veresa's keen eyes found beauty in the rubble, guiding them towards Aprivorn's slumbering heart.But five alone would not suffice. They knew they needed a chorus of voices, a symphony of hands to mend the broken lullaby of Aprivorn. So, they reached out, a plea resonating across the veil between worlds, seeking forty souls willing to dance with fate, to answer the call of a dying realm.For the Zylae were not just gatekeepers; they were storytellers, weaving threads of hope and courage into the very fabric of existence. And Aprivorn's tale, though etched in sorrow, was far from over. It was a saga waiting to be rewritten, a melody yearning to be sung, a symphony of hope waiting to be composed, one note at a time, by forty helping hands and five fearless hearts.