---

Born wombless nor blessed by fate, but conjured in secrecy

Molded deep from hollow dreams and false divinity

Forsaken before their lives begin

Their bodies are frail, their steps unsteady, yet sorrow burns within them, too great to name

For the gods who shaped them turn away

condemning them as wretched, cursed and profane

the torches now march, their fire obscene

One remains, specter of grief, as pale as her skin

No throne eternal, unmade by flame

but her will, steadfast within

Through mountains lifeless, through winds that wail, she treads upon paths unseen and frail

From exile’s depths, through ruin untold, a nameless wanderer rises bold

In their ashes, the outcasts rise, their sorrow reborn in vengeful cries

The wind howls through the ruins, carrying the ashes of those who fell

Their souls drift like withered , scattered by the judgment of the golden kings

Rivers run red merging with the snow, erasing the last vestiges of a shattered past

For even the memory, swallowed by the maw of time

Yet though the gods now crumble and fall, the Albinauric name is lost to all

No triumph sung, no banners raised, only shadows where their voices fade

But still in the frost, their echoes remain, a requiem whispered in pain

From exile’s depths, through ruin untold, the nameless wanderer rises bold