In the shadow of Haldor's Keep, under skies turned to lead, Loken rides through the mist, with the weight of the dead. Gildon's throne room awaits, banners faded and torn, Loyal soldiers stand grim, spears raised like thorns. Thunder rolls in the distance, a warning unheard, As the doors creak wide open, and fate speaks its word. Rings in the tyrant's hand, we turn from the gate Blood spared this day, but hearts bear the weight Exiles we sail, to forge a new fate. Hand extended in truce, the rings slip from his grasp, Gildon's fingers close tight, like a serpent's cold clasp. Betrayal's shadow falls long, in the hall's hollow echo, Companions whisper low, as the truth starts to show. Raised spears glint in the fire, but no battle ignites, Just the storm's angry howl, through the cracks of the night. Rings in the tyrant's hand, we turn from the gate Blood spared this day, but hearts bear the weight Exiles we sail, to forge a new fate. Across the swollen river, on boats lashed by the gale, Rain lashes our faces, as we set our frail sail. Haldor's lights fade behind, like ghosts in the gray, Companions huddle close, chasing the dawn's first ray. Thunder crashes above, harmonica wails in the wind, Echoing our sorrow, for the kin left behind. Rings in the tyrant's hand... we turn from the gate... Blood spared this day... hearts bear the weight... Exiles we sail... to forge a new fate...
