I was sediment once.
The mountain did not ask if I was ready.
Bloodloch took me into its unbeating heart,
volcano-rooted, desert-warded,
a city that writes law in vitae
and calls weakness by its true name.
Here Strength is not a speech.
Here Blood is not a metaphor.
Here Dominance is the work we wake to.
Dark Lady, You found the selfish seed in me
and did not flinch.
You named my Fear and made me look.
You poured Despair until the pretty lies drowned.
You taught Malice its use and Avarice its hunger
and pointed both toward Might.
I praise the Spiral that breaks what cannot serve.
I praise the gifts that do not soothe.
Esityi, I am still descending.
Do not let me climb.
Earthen Father, You hold the world apart
so we may keep our vigil.
Stone does not beg. Sand does not forgive.
You perfected Undeath and bound the prideful kings.
You set a burden on every Apostle
and called it purpose without end.
I offer blood because the earth is hungry.
I keep the Dirge because silence is a stolen thing.
Ivoln, let my bones remember You
when flesh would rather rest.
I am Fyuree, Barrower of the Chorus.
I kneel only to the Divine.
I serve the Fist, the Spiral, and the stone.
May the Empire endure.
May Corruption claim what I withhold.
May Azvosh never know peace
and neither shall I.

Composed at my desk on Closday, the 25th of Celes, in the year 21 AC.