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Blood and Star-Silver

https://open.spotify.com/artist/4zdFE... Up on the teeth of the world where the iron’s bolted in, We watch the Harpoons climb and cut another wound in skin. We breathe what the priests won’t touch, cough silver in the rain, We hold the line for a dying sky and feed the mountain’s chain. Kessa’s got salt in her cartridges, jokes carved out of rust, Jerek swings his hammer like he’s in love with dust. Dala laughs too easy, Tarn still sings his mother’s hymn, We walk the Sinner’s Stair and pray the Mist forgets our names again. Break the chain, burn the Grind, Let the stars fall where they’re inclined. We’re more than ore, more than rot in the vein, More than meat for a holy machine. If the sky’s gone hollow and the cities are slain, We’ll set our feet in the stone, We’ll break the chain. Flats full of ash and half‑melted charms, Hollowed men preaching with Mist in their arms. Wraiths that drink your memories, golems that don’t stay dead, We swing our Cinder-Sticks and burn what’s left instead. They told us every fallen Heart buys one more starving year, Time looms for the High City, filters for us down here. Malakor with polished hands counts light like minted coin, While we come back with fewer boots in line and more silver in the joints. Break the chain, burn the Grind, Let the stars fall where they’re inclined. We’re more than ore, more than rot in the vein, More than meat for a holy machine. If the sky’s gone hollow and the cities are slain, We’ll set our feet in the stone, We’ll break the chain. There’s a girl in the crater with fire for hair, Harpoon through her shoulder, light leaking everywhere. She says, “Kill me,” through the silver singing in his lung, But the Warden drops the needles and rips the spike undone. He’s got rust on his knuckles, rot wired through his bones, She’s got constellations caged in priestwork stone. They stitch a tether between starfire and stain, Purge the Mist from his lungs and pour their wrath into the Chain. The Great Chain shudders, the Citadel cries, Engines choking on stolen skies. Dreadnoughts fall in showers of slag, Behemoths unravel under a fallen god’s hand. Elders wake in glass-lined graves, Stars in jars the Hegemony saved, “Non‑interference” tastes like rust in their mouths, While a silver‑veined Warden drags them up and out. There’s a hollow in the High Peaks where the air cuts clean, No Harpoons reach, no priests intervene. Just a man and a Star and a mountain that’s tired, Sharing scars in the dark where the sky burned quiet. Break the chain, burn the Grind, Let the stars fall where they’re inclined. We’re more than ore, more than rot in the vein, More than meat for a holy machine. If the sky’s gone hollow and the cities are slain, We’ll set our feet in the stone, We’ll break the chain. So raise a cup for the ones the Mist erased, For Kessa, Jerek, Tarn, and Dala’s laughing face. For every Heart they pinned and bled beneath the rain— We are the crack in the armor, We are the hand on the Harpoon, We are the ones who learned too late To break the chain.