In the dust of distant lowlands,
in the Eternal Warrior's shadow,
two sons were born beneath a dimming star.
The elder was welcomed in triumph;
the younger in promise guarded.

Our Hero walked where birthright faltered,
and hunger shaped his mortal soul.
He took no gifts from heaven,
but trained his mind with patience and precision:
studied what his rival simply knew,
forging strength and wisdom in days uncounted.

His brother sought prophecy's decree;
the Hero sought the truth of effort.
He woke each day to greet the same despair
and forced it to its knees.

When envy stirred, it wore two faces:
love for a brother, and the sting of his ease.
A quiet fire grew within the lesser,
stoked by admiration and fierce resentment,
to defy fate's mandate and shape it to his will.

Then battle came, and destiny was altered.
His brother fell beneath the spear.
As the lauded elder exhaled his last,
the younger's limits were torn asunder.
And in the lingering silence,
ambition found him.

The Self-Made set his eyes upon the heights,
and vowed to stand among the deathless,
though the cost be his own soul.

The gods beheld him then
and set Their trials before his path.
He met them all with resounding courage,
naming melee a thing of beauty, and strategy an art.

What followed none will forget:
a soul unmade,
a man undone,
a banner newly risen,
and a place among the stars.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Mayan, in the year 988 AF.