The Tome of Fate

In halls of stone where echoes weep.. Beneath the earth, the secrets sleep. A tome of fate, with binding black.. Scrawled in blood.. no turning back. A thousand hands have turned its page.. Kings and slaves, the fool, the sage. Each name inscribed, their doom foretold.. In ink of fire and wax of cold. Upon a throne of shattered time.. A prophet chants in whispered rhyme. His eyes, like coals, burn through the mist.. His lips curled in a serpent’s hiss. “The world is dust, the stars will wane.. Empires fall in fire and pain. The hands of gods will twist and break.. As silence drowns the lives they take.” Through shadowed halls of dying lore.. March the damned forevermore. Armor cracked and banners torn.. Bound by oaths, cursed and sworn. A warrior stands, defying fate.. Blade in hand, a heart of hate. He turns the page, his name is writ.. Yet still he fights, refusing it. The prophet laughs, the heavens shake.. The tomb doors groan, the columns quake. The stars rain down, the void consumes.. The echoes cry in ancient tombs. Yet past the dark where none return.. One candle flickers, still it burns. For fate is written, forged in lies.. And some will live though heaven dies.