Reclaim the Helm (Wayno V Celtic edit)

The storm arrived like a verdict, unyielding and fierce. It tore through the skies, challenging me to rise above. I stood firm at the helm, one hand grasping the wheel, the other clinging to everything I'd vowed to keep. The sea surged — a mighty beast, demanding my defeat. But where were they? When my voice was drowned and the night swallowed my cries? They lingered onshore, detached and dry, weighing my struggle as though it were guilt. They imagined streets amidst storms, as if I could simply tread back home. Yet I was not defeated. I was battling for air. I defied the darkness. I let the gust claim my shout — not as a plea to them, but as a tribute to the wild that still holds my name. Within that chaos, I discovered a new strength. Not serenity, but might. They will forever fail to grasp the cry of a man without a voice echoing in the storm — and being answered by the sea itself. I no longer yearn for the shore. I ride the wind. I embody the helm, the storm, and the stillness. In my realm, I race the waves in the storm. And will. Always. Triumph.