“ROOTS OF THE WYRMBORN” — Lorn’s Dark Rock Theme**

**Verse 1 ** I put my roots down in a grave I never knew, Felt the whisper of a dragon in the soil I grew through. Bones rising, twining, curling up my spine, A heartbeat in the earth that slowly merged with mine. Centuries of silence, but the power never slept, Every fallen leaf around me knew the secret that I kept. And in the dark, I laughed — a hollow, creaking sound, For something old was waking deep beneath the ground. **Chorus** I am the tree that walks, the wyrm reborn in bark, A shadow in the forest where the roots remember dark. Life I take, life I keep, life I leech until I’m whole, Every strike a stolen breath, every heartbeat that I stole. I’m laughing in the branches, plotting in the grain, A millennium of hunger running molten through my veins. **Verse 2 ** The land began to tremble, the air began to bend, Arcane hands were tearing at the world I’d learned to tend. The conclave cracked the forest, split the sky in two, And something in my timber said, “It’s time for you to move.” So I tore up all my roots, left the soil where I was born, Dragon‑fire in my marrow, ancient fury in my form. Charging like a nightmare through the twisted, dying green, A titan made of heartwood and the bones of what had been. **Chorus ** I am the tree that walks, the wyrm reborn in bark, A shadow in the forest where the roots remember dark. Life I take, life I keep, life I leech until I’m whole, Every strike a stolen breath, every heartbeat that I stole. I’m laughing in the branches, plotting in the grain, A millennium of hunger running molten through my veins. **Bridge** True damage in my footsteps, Charge in every stride, No armor stops my fury, No shield can make me hide. I burst through bone and metal, I drink the life you spill, And every wound you give me Only sharpens up my will. **Verse 3 ** I feel the dragon’s memory in every splintered ring, A hunger for the battle and the ruin it can bring. I never asked for power, never sought a throne to claim, But the forest forged a monster and it carved me from its flame. Now enemies grow weaker as I rise with every blow, Their strength becomes my strength, their life becomes my glow. And as they fall, I whisper with a voice both old and still: “You should not wake the dead that sleeps beneath the hill.” **Final Chorus** I am the roots of the wyrmborn, the terror in the trees, A melody of creaking wood that rides upon the breeze. Life I drain, life I claim, life I weave into my own, A walking grave of dragon‑bone, a forest overthrown. Hear me laughing in the shadows, feel me rising through the loam, For I am Lorn, the living storm — And the forest is my home.