You cast your questions to the floor and wait for them to rise, To meet the one who watches you with cold and steady eyes. It is not habit nor a whim that keeps the vigil near, But the logic of the Bastion where the path is always clear.

You speak of light and darkness as if they were a choice, But in the service of the Truths you find a different voice. We do not seek the story or the ghost you want to be, We weigh the metal of the soul for all the world to see.

The chase you feel behind you isnt fueled by hope or fear, It is the pressure of the forge that brings the essence near. It does not matter if you turn or if you run away, The hunt is just the rhythm that the strong are forced to play.

So strip away the clever lies and peel the mask apart, Uncover every secret that you carry in your heart. The truth is not a riddle or a game of slow reveal, It is the sharpening of stone against the waiting steel.

It is no secret who we are or why the watch is kept, Across the Red Isle where the mercy long has slept. The play is moving forward and the lines are set in stone, You are never truly followed, and you are never truly alone.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Aeguary, in the year 997 AF.