Veins of molten light,

they walk between suns and storms

echoes shape their path.

Spinning dusk to dawn,

they whisper new worlds in sleep

time bends to their breath.

Stone hearts wrapped in skin,

they forget their burried roots

cradle stars in palms.

Written in marrow,

prophecies drift through their blood

each death births a truth.

From old wars they rise,

smoke-wreathed and red with purpose

gods who lost their names.