I stood where the mountain shadows fall,
Where ice and iron brave the squall.
A soldier's breath, a hammer's cry,
And still, I watch our colors fly.

They say we're chained, that we forgot,
That tides have turned and honour's naught.
But let them preach from gilded skies,
While we press steel where duty lies.

We bury ours with solemnity and sigh,
And carve their names for past awry.
But in the end, you'll count your dead,
As this is where your choice led.

The Empire grows, as Empires do,
But Cyrene stands, and still holds true.
Not bent, not broken, we stand defamed,
Older now, and Ocean reclaimed.

I am first claimed by He of Heroes,
To chase the path where glory goes.
Not by fire, nor raging tide,
But by the deeds that time won't hide.

And if you seek a better world,
Pick up blade or brush, let sails unfurl.
Then come.
This mountain home keeps a place,
For those who carry Cyrene's grace.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Chronos, in the year 981 AF.