Marked To Make

Ink the sigil into living skin, Blueprints carved where bone begins. Not born for crowns, not sworn to pray, We shape the tools that decide the day. While kings debate and clerics plead, We draft the future rivet by deed. Gears don’t lie and steel won’t bend To pretty words or promises penned. No prophecy, no divine decree, Just measured force and certainty. Marked to make, not marked to kneel. We don’t dream, we forge what’s real. Cannith’s hand in every age, Silent authors of the page. From spark to form, from thought to steel, The world runs on what we reveal. Factories hum like patient gods, Assembly lines never pause. Flesh may falter, empires fall, But the design outlives them all. Warforged wake with borrowed breath, Proof creation flirts with death. Ask not if we crossed a line, Ask who profits from the design. Progress wears a neutral face, Morality slows the pace. Marked to make, not marked to kneel. We don’t hope, we calculate and seal. Cannith blood, Cannith brand, Future measured by our hand. From schematic dreams to gears that grind, Innovation leaves mercy behind. Click. Measure. Cut. Test. Fail. Refine. Again. Again. Again. If it works, it lives. If not… it’s scrap. Three houses split, one legacy, Schismed mind of mastery. West builds fast, East builds clean, South builds secrets in between. No absolution, no regret, Just patents no one can forget. When history asks who lit the flame, They’ll choke on dust and say: Cannith. Marked to make, not marked to kneel Every age bends to what we build. Thrones may rot and gods may fade, But steel remembers who it obeyed. From first spark to final seal, The world is shaped by the Mark of Making. Creation is not kind. Creation is correct.