Our general surrendered himself to war,
vanished—
swallowed whole by the fog.
Once again,
he left us to ourselves,
to the echo of his memory.
The weight of mist
cut our sight short,
blurred the borders of the world.
And yet—
the light he planted within us
refused to fade.
It carried us forward,
a stubborn flame
against the gray.
We walked on,
tireless in the fog,
step after determined step.
He,
never truly leaving us orphaned,
remained where breath becomes will.
We tore through the haze,
split the dull veil apart—
and there,
clearer than truth itself,
we found him.
And we fell,
silent at his feet,
speechless at his feet,
breathless at his feet.
― Atrona Grizel