Years turned the battlefield to grass,
Ash softened into stone,
Children played where armies burned
And called the silence home.
They said the age of monsters passed,
That fire had spent its breath—
That legends die with those who fall
And courage sleeps with death.
Pre-Chorus
But steel remembers hands,
And armor remembers skin,
And some inherit more than names—
They inherit what comes after them.
Chorus
So hush now—hear the North draw breath,
The old wind speaks once more,
A shadow walks in borrowed boots
Across a frozen floor.
Not crowned by blood, nor claimed by fate,
Not risen out of spite—
But forged where memory meets resolve…
A new Dreadwolf
Steps into the night.
Verse II
He did not chase a dead man’s flame,
Nor bow before his ghost,
He learned the cost of standing still
And chose that weight the most.
The songs were heavy on his back,
The armor heavier still,
But wolves are not made of the past—
They’re made of sharpened will.
Pre-Chorus
He did not ask the world for faith,
Nor swear he’d be the same,
He only took the step required
And let the earth remember his name.
Chorus
So hush now—hear the iron shift,
Hear Nyxdrave wake again,
Not screaming for the blood of kings
But ready all the same.
The Ashen Maw no longer waits
For fury without sight—
It bends, it listens, it endures…
As the new Dreadwolf
Claims the night.
Bridge
They feared another walking war,
Another pyre made flesh,
But this one learned from silence first
And carried fire with depth.
Not mercy soft, not cruelty loud,
But something rarer still—
A strength that knows when not to strike
And when it absolutely will.
Verse III
Old men crossed themselves in halls,
Young lords forgot to smile,
Dragons circled wider arcs
And watched him for a while.
For fire remembers standing steel,
And ash remembers stance—
And even death, if it could speak,
Would not rush this second chance.
Final Chorus
So sing not of the one who fell
Nor beg the past to rise,
Sing of the wolf who chose to stand
With open, steady eyes.
Legends warn.
But heirs decide.
And history learns, too late—
The flame does not belong to one…
It waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Outro (quiet, resolved)
The world asked if it dared again.
The North answered—
Yes.
AelorynAshmere
