HSR Lore and Notes

A thief tells few stories —

“The first story is titled:
'The Golden Apple? It doesn't have to go to the fairest.”

That city is named Paphas,
Where the golden light of Mnestia shines.

The Golden Apple Tree sits in the city's middle,
Only the fairest can pluck its apples.

The beauty pageant begins on time,
As the fair ones stretch their supple arms,
Trying to pluck the fruits above their heads.

Yet every time the apples come within reach,
A breeze blows the fruit away without a trace.

The audience in displeasure disbands,
With only one girl left standing there, her features bland —

Yet to her surprise she finds,
Her arms full of golden fruits, a harvest grand.

“The second story is titled:
Trying to argue? Don't trick yourself, please.”

That city is named Idilia,
Where Cerces' roots bury deep and wide.

The sophist scholar holds a tortoise aloft,
But his theories? Common sense bereft —

“Even the best athlete
could never catch up to this turtle.”

None can overturn him in arguments,
And he obtains the champion's crown in merriment.

Yet as he is about to leave,
A wind blows the tortoise in front of him.

And behold, his paradox becomes truth —
To catch up to the turtle, an entire day and night he spends.