Green Throne of Twilight

In the twilight belt of the Sphere of Eternal Twilight, where fire softens and frost relents, lies the Green Throne, a symbol of balance, longed for by all, possessed by none. The blue frost dust, buried deep within the silent caves of the North, is sacred to the fire-born. It tempers their flames, cools their souls, and opens visions in their searing rituals. The red sand crystals, found only in the scorched dunes of the South, power the machines of the Crystal Bones, refined engines fed by mineral fire. Each side needs what the other holds, yet they refuse to admit it. Dependence becomes conflict. Trade becomes blood. Belief becomes currency. And in the center of this tension float the Zeta Reticuli, masked in neutrality. They speak of peace but profit from war. They craft bureaucracy like spider silk, beautiful, complex, and binding. They assign value to dust and fire alike, always at a cost. They choose no side, because they sell to both. They never rule, because true power lies in orchestrating the throne, not sitting on it. They are not gods, not tyrants, but something colder: calculating balance in the name of order. The Green Throne is not meant to be sat upon. It is a mirror of what all sides refuse to see: Without the other, none can survive. And while they fight for power, the Zetas sell the war. And count the silence between the screams. [Intro – Spoken] "Where the fire meets the frost... Where silence and fury barter in whispers... There lies the Green Throne — sovereign to none, desired by all." [Verse] Upon the twilight’s fragile land, They fight for dust and grains of sand. The fire-born seek the frozen blue, A sacred ash in rituals true. The Crystal Bones, in silence deep, Desire the stones the deserts keep. Both bleed for what the other owns, And spill their truth to claim the throne. [Pre-Chorus] Ancient oaths, now cracks in stone, Desire seeds a rising throne. [Chorus] Who shall reign the twilight green? Where sun and frost no longer lean. Is the crown forged by molten spell? Or carved by minds the data tell? Trade your soul for fire or code Or be ruled from a throne no blood bestowed. Peace is just a mask we wear, While greed decides what kings declare. [Verse] The Zetas hover, draped in neutral guise, Counting crystals as they weigh their lies. They broker peace with one hand tied, While selling war on the other side. No loyalty to flame or frost, They balance gain, not what is lost. To Salamanders, they preach restraint, To Crystal Bones, a warrior’s taint. [Pre-Chorus] Not gods, nor demons, yet still they rule The throne obeys the silent fool. [Chorus] Who shall reign the twilight green? Where sun and frost no longer lean. Is the crown forged by molten spell? Or carved by minds the data tell? Trade your soul for fire or code Or be ruled from a throne no blood bestowed. Peace is just a mask we wear, While greed decides what kings declare. [Break – Instrumental] "The sand bleeds red... The frost sings blue... The throne obeys the silent fool." [Final Chorus] No one reigns the twilight green. The throne is empty, cold, unseen. Not forged in spell, nor logic’s light, But cursed to drift in endless night. Each side feeds the silent war, Trading peace for something more. And while they burn, and while they freeze The Zetas count and sell the keys.