The Prince and the Forge

You saw a throne where I built a fire,

assumed the crown was yours by right -

born to silk, to gilded halls,

while I was carved by hammer’s might.

You called me subject, called me land,

a plot to claim, a debt to collect.

But kingdoms earned in blood and flame

are not the ones men inherit, but respect.

I did not rise from velvet cradles.

I rose from tests that break the proud,

from nights so long they rewrote bones,

from choices that would drown you now.

You wanted war? Then take your spoils:

the hollow echo of your name,

the weight of ruin where you stood,

the curse of wishing you’d seen the game -

that I was never just a rival,

but the hand that could have lifted you.

Now watch your towers turn to dust,

and know: I built mine stronger than you.

The forge does not forgive the weak,

nor does the storm spare those who boast.

You played at king - now wear the cost.

I am the cost. Now that’s a ghost.