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Deep in the marrow, a furnace glows,
A primal pulse that only he knows.
With wings of shadow and eyes of fire,
He is the peak of the mountain's spire.
Ancient weight in his bone and breath,
Sovereign life in the shadow of death.
The roar is a crown, a heavy decree,
Unbound by the chains of what used to be.
But power is vast, a wide, lonely sea,
A truth that demands both grace and decree.
To walk through the gate, he must find the key—
The space between who he was, and who he can be.
Scale to skin, shadow to light,
A folding of space in the dead of night.
The core stays constant, the fire remains high,
A master of form beneath a dual sky.
One heart, two echoes; one soul, two ways,
The roar of the beast in a sanctuary’s haze.
From obsidian scale to a conduit’s grace,
A transformation of space and of place.
Refining the pulse, distilling the flame,
The beast finds its rhythm, a new form he claims.
(No longer a roar, but a steady command,
Mastering the tools in his own reaching hand.)
(Verse 2: The Sanctuary)
Steel-spun armor, a circuit of gold,
A story of mastery starts to unfold.
He walks through the hall with a steady stride,
There is no more hunger, there is nothing to hide.
The horns remain sharp, the fire still burns,
But now in his footsteps, the sanctuary turns.
A master of rhythm, a king of the fold,
His ancient power, in a new frame enrolled.
Scale to skin, shadow to light,
A folding of space in the dead of night.
The core stays constant, the fire remains high,
A master of form beneath a dual sky.
One heart, two echoes; one soul, two ways,
The roar of the beast in a sanctuary’s haze.
He is the mountain. He is the spark.
Two paths joined together in one light's mark.
The dragon, the man, the spirit, the flame...
A sovereign heart with no limits to claim.
