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In the dawn before the storm,

She was a rose without thorns,

A daughter of gold, a bride of peace—

Until the knives came in the dark.

They burned her halls,

They chained her kin,

They crowned her grief with crimson sin.

The crown they left upon her head

Was made of ashes, forged in dread.

Years passed like winter nights,

Her heart became a frozen blade.

She studied war, she learned the dead,

She called the storms, the wolves, the shade.

And when the moon bled into black,

The queen rode forth, she took it back.

Her banners screamed in silver flame,

The ground itself spoke out her name.

No mercy fell from her blackened throne,

The guilty’s blood became her own.

For every tear they made her weep,

She sowed their bones in shadows deep.

And when her reign was finally done,

The world knelt down—

Not out of love,

But fear of the Avenging One.