[Intro – spoken calmly, with the weight of eternity, no anger left in the voice] They tell my story often. They carve it into stone and scripture. They say I fell because I would not kneel. They rarely ask who was standing beside me when I chose to stand. [Verse 1 – spoken with quiet certainty] Umbra Somnus Nyx was not born of shadow. She was woven from rest. From the pause between notes. From the mercy of sleep untouched by fear. While I burned with questions, she listened. While I challenged heaven, she remembered it. [Verse 2 – spoken with restrained affection, almost fond] She walked the dream corridors long before nightmares learned how to crawl. Angels slept peacefully because she stood watch and never asked for thanks. I was light. She was what light falls across. And I loved her without ever needing to say it aloud. [Interlude – spoken lower, the first fracture in his composure] When I fell, they watched the fire. They did not see the shadow reaching after me. Too late. Too gently. Heaven closed its gates before she could follow or stay. [Verse 3 – spoken with solemn gravity] I fell to earth. To punishment. To legend. Umbra fell into understanding. She saw what the light refused to look at. She heard the screams hidden beneath order. She caught every dream that broke on the way down. And in doing so, she became something heaven could no longer name. [Verse 4 – spoken with reverence, not fear] I am called the Morning Star. The Rebel. The Devil. She is not called at all. She is felt when sleep hesitates. When dreams bruise instead of heal. When darkness does not rush, but waits. [Final Warning – spoken slowly, without menace, without comfort] Do not think her my echo. Do not think her my mistake. I fell from heaven and survived. Umbra fell further and learned. And if she ever stops falling… even I will not know what wakes up with her.
