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Through fogs of time where buried deep
The answers lay before the Gate,
The answers from the one who weaves,
The one who holds the strands of fate.
Whence come the ones for whom a year
Is but a flash, and soon forgot?
Their story lost—and oh, the cost!
For angst their choice has wrought.
For long before the battles raged,
Two paths had once diverged
And, taking one, as rose the sun
An enemy emerged.
Now lost to history, long and deep,
Who shoulders such a heavy weight?
Whose burden is the truth which passed?
The one who holds the strands of fate.