The Crimson Warriors | A Poem

The moon hangs low, the night winds sigh,
A kingdom stirs beneath the sky.
In halls of stone and fields untamed,
The strongest rise, though none are named.

A quiet pain, a battle deep,
A crimson oath they swore to keep.
Through fire and storm, through time unchained,
Their power flows, unseen, unclaimed.

Through shadowed woods and mountains high,
They tread where others fear to try.
Blade in their hands, fire in their veins,
Wielding their power, shattering the chains.

The earth knows their name, the stars call their kin,
For only the strong bleed and rise once again.

The rivers dark, the earth turns red,
Yet none shall fall, they rise instead.
Not cursed, but crowned, not weak, but wise,
With steady hands and fearless eyes.

They walk through shadows, they stand through storms,
Their strength reborn in endless forms.
No chains can bind them, no fear remains
The blood they shed ignites their flames.

Not wounds, but warnings, not pain, but might,
Ocean of red, yet she walks in light.
For fate may tremble, and darkness may bend,
But only the strong bleed and rise once again.