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The Lamp Oil and the Dark

I woke to salt upon my tongue, sand still pressed against my face, The chains were gone, the ship was burning, iron smoke had filled the place. Driftwood scattered round my body, wreckage wrapped in morning haze, I was free, or so I wondered, on a shore that felt like a maze. Footsteps in the empty surf, a name I could not see, Hans had left a trembling compass, pointing somewhere out for me. So I walked where the mountain rose, higher than the clouded sky, Through the tangled breath of the forest, with the ocean’s ghost behind. If this isle is another prison, I’ll carve my way through the night, With fire in my palm and my friends at my side, I’ll learn what hides from the light. Azrog trembled at the edges, Citlali felt the chill, Shizul laughed at danger’s whisper, when the world stood still. We found the river split in silence, a chasm deep and wide, And a lonely tower watching, like an unblinking eye. Hunger gnawed beneath our ribs, the wild gave us no grace, Till a boar came charging through us, and threw Shizul from his place. So I walked where the mountain rose, higher than the clouded sky, Through the tangled breath of the forest, with the ocean’s ghost behind. If this isle is another prison, I’ll carve my way through the night, With fire in my palm and my friends at my side, I’ll learn what hides from the light. Flame and frost tore through the beast, we broke its raging run, And in its fall we found our feast, under the setting sun. Across a trembling bridge we wandered, over waters black and deep, Azrog’s breath caught in his chest, as the chasm tried to keep. At the broken watchtower’s shadow, we took what time had left, A bow, a torn and trembling journal, of a soul near death. He spoke of something watching, lurking just beyond the spark, A warning scrawled in shaking ink, “Don’t… the dark.” Lamp oil running low, footsteps in the wall, If the flame goes out tonight, who will answer when I call? We climbed where old bones of this place still clung to cracked stone, Warehouses of rust and ruin, echoes of the unknown. Steel in our hands, cloth on our backs, proof we were not alone, Yet every wind that brushed our skin carried whispers from the throne. And Shizul laughed at fate itself, took powder to his chest, A blast that shook the mountain’s heart, left him wounded, but still blessed. So we stand at half the daylight, blood and smoke upon our hands, With a mountain yet to conquer, and a shadow on these lands. If this isle is another prison, we’ll tear apart its night, With fire in our palms and our hearts still strong, we’ll drag the truth to light.