To protect their heaven,
they have forged hell within their hearts—
cold, unyielding, unforgiving,
their mercy molten stone,
their love seared to ash.
They raise altars of fear,
they chant prayers of iron,
they lash the world
as if God Himself demanded it.
But heaven needs no defenders.
Heaven needs no walls.
Heaven needs no guards.
Its light blooms without permission,
without fear,
without chains.
In the final reckoning,
they are not of heaven.
They are of hell—
keepers of fire who call it light,
wardens of purity who cannot bear
the tremor of a gentle heart.
Their walls will crumble,
their flames betray them,
their masks shatter—
and still, the gates of mercy
stand open, unbarred, eternal.
Awake! Awake, O world!
The keepers tremble.
The proud shall fall.
The gates swing wide.
The heavens are free.
And the righteous—
oh, the righteous shall dance!
They shall dance
in the ruin of the proud,
in the ashes of the false,
in the glory of what remains.
