Daosr Tu Tra Hurae (Part III - The New Order)

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[Spoken Word]:
"Tra raors uk sra korka vruvrask baosk mu kura."
(The heart of the false prophets beats no more.)

[Verse I – After the Breach]
The citadel cracks in the morning glare,
stone ribs open to the choking air.
Raoqam banners hang torn and low,
mud-stained black in the ember glow.

They once spread like rot through living wood
Zealots carving prayers into the bones of the fallen
"For the Brood — for the Brood —"
Until the canopy itself... rejected them

[Pre-Chorus - Harsh Spoken Word]
How long do you bow before the sky forgets your face?

[Chorus]
RISE! — from every scattered ridge and burrow
RISE! — Earthbound and winged alike
We are the wound that will not close
Beyond the point of no return, we will never look back.

[Verse II – Collapse of the Raoqam Lines]
[Verse 2]
First came the Hurruv Torum clan — twelve hunters, nothing more
Then the Vesk-Urai from the canyon floors, earthbound, brutal, sure
The Muumrakk Wemsk — exiles branded traitors by the Brood's decree
One by one the forgotten found each other in the dark

The priests scream, “The Brood still sees!”
but no hidden hand comes 'long the breeze.
No veiled blade, no omen bright—
only dust, defeat, and shining moonlight.

[Pre-Chorus - Guttural Spoken Word]
No priests among them
No altars, no rites of repentance
Just the honest weight of choosing...
The old order called it heresy—
We called it... remembering what we are

[Chorus]
RISE! — from every scattered ridge and burrow
RISE! — Earthbound and winged alike
We are the wound that will not close
Beyond the point of no return, we will never look back
RISE! — Bring down the banners, break the chain,
wash the old throne clean with rain.
From feathered sky to scarred-back ground,
The mighty fall, the veils grow thin—
a new tribe rises from within.

[Bridge]
At the eastern wall, a winged chief kneels,
placing his spear by a wingless shield.
At the western gate, scarred hands rise,
not to beg, but to claim the skies.

They bind their wounds with the same red cloth,
drink from the same cracked water trough.
No one asks who fell from grace—
only who still holds their place.

A child of exile lifts a drum,
a skyborn hunter begins to hum.
One rhythm spreads through every chest—
the scattered tribes becoming blessed.

[Acoustic Guitar]

[Final Chorus]
RISE! — Ohh, we ain't scattered no more (never again)
RISE! — Not buried, not lost in the wind, just here as one!
Earia belongs to those who walk it
Those who fly it, those who chose each other
RISE! — Raise the wounded, guard the young,
let every fallen name be sung.
No winged above, no wingless below,
one bloodline in the afterglow.
The old world ends, the dawn begins—
the many rise...

The many rise as the one true kings...

TRIA KEMSK!
TRIA KEMSK!
TRIA KEMSK!
TRIA KEMSK!

[Outro - Spoken Word]
"...my beloved son. In honor of the last true voice of the Ancestors, I give you his name."
"I name you... Weta'Oma."

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[Lore / Background]: "The fall of the Vemsk Uk Raoqam's capital and their holy citadel, the Akbar Svera marked the beginning of the end for their dominion over their many bountiful territories. With Deokumd now in the hands of the rebel alliance, the rest of the former empire's lands either broke away from their spiritualist elites or were taken by the now unified coalition too. This new authority condemned the teachings of the Vemsk Uk Raoqam, returning the ways of tribute to the ancestors to what it should've always been: with the absolute glory of battle and combat, rather than mere material offerings. It is in the ruins of the Akbar Svera one night that a new dominion would be born, uniting all under one banner for the glory of battle and bound by honor & discipline: The True Kings of Earia-20." [Spoken Word]: "Tra raors uk sra korka vruvrask baosk mu kura." (The heart of the false prophets beats no more.) [Verse I – After the Breach] The citadel cracks in the morning glare, stone ribs open to the choking air. Raoqam banners hang torn and low, mud-stained black in the ember glow. They once spread like rot through living wood Zealots carving prayers into the bones of the fallen "For the Brood — for the Brood —" Until the canopy itself... rejected them [Pre-Chorus - Harsh Spoken Word] How long do you bow before the sky forgets your face? [Chorus] RISE! — from every scattered ridge and burrow RISE! — Earthbound and winged alike We are the wound that will not close Beyond the point of no return, we will never look back. [Verse II – Collapse of the Raoqam Lines] [Verse 2] First came the Hurruv Torum clan — twelve hunters, nothing more Then the Vesk-Urai from the canyon floors, earthbound, brutal, sure The Muumrakk Wemsk — exiles branded traitors by the Brood's decree One by one the forgotten found each other in the dark The priests scream, “The Brood still sees!” but no hidden hand comes 'long the breeze. No veiled blade, no omen bright— only dust, defeat, and shining moonlight. [Pre-Chorus - Guttural Spoken Word] No priests among them No altars, no rites of repentance Just the honest weight of choosing... The old order called it heresy— We called it... remembering what we are [Chorus] RISE! — from every scattered ridge and burrow RISE! — Earthbound and winged alike We are the wound that will not close Beyond the point of no return, we will never look back RISE! — Bring down the banners, break the chain, wash the old throne clean with rain. From feathered sky to scarred-back ground, The mighty fall, the veils grow thin— a new tribe rises from within. [Bridge] At the eastern wall, a winged chief kneels, placing his spear by a wingless shield. At the western gate, scarred hands rise, not to beg, but to claim the skies. They bind their wounds with the same red cloth, drink from the same cracked water trough. No one asks who fell from grace— only who still holds their place. A child of exile lifts a drum, a skyborn hunter begins to hum. One rhythm spreads through every chest— the scattered tribes becoming blessed. [Acoustic Guitar] [Final Chorus] RISE! — Ohh, we ain't scattered no more (never again) RISE! — Not buried, not lost in the wind, just here as one! Earia belongs to those who walk it Those who fly it, those who chose each other RISE! — Raise the wounded, guard the young, let every fallen name be sung. No winged above, no wingless below, one bloodline in the afterglow. The old world ends, the dawn begins— the many rise... The many rise as the one true kings... TRIA KEMSK! TRIA KEMSK! TRIA KEMSK! TRIA KEMSK! [Outro - Spoken Word] "...my beloved son. In honor of the last true voice of the Ancestors, I give you his name." "I name you... Weta'Oma."

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