The Guardians - an ancient order of warrior arbitrators who exist outside of the strata of society. Disconnected from any lineage or hierarchy, their unique position allows for incontestable judgment - and punishment - to be doled out to anyone regardless of wealth, status, privilege, or class. They hold sacred no gods, no men, but simply balance itself: an equilibrium of both good and evil. This highly honored position attracts countless volunteers, very few of which survive the ordeals of training in the Guardians' mountainous stronghold. Occasionally, the Guardians will purchase children of the poor and destitute as servants. Even fewer of these children survive. This is where our story begins…
“Heed the words of your master.” No sign of regret as they sold him away For a pittance of silver The tears of the child evolve to hate Their name, their face Condemned to an arduous fate The guardians bend and break In the halls of the stronghold Bodies are tested; minds take shape The boy will learn, and grow Will you light a fire When the world is bitter and cold? Will you build the pyre Out of that which you carry around in your soul? Can you feed the flames With the kindling of memories old? Will they speak your name? Over and over and over the story is told Surviving the winter No easy task for a boy of his age In the halls of the chosen Heartache, the one thing that they can't cage He slips away But is caught at the end of the day His future they now debate: “We'll harness the fire Acolyte training will be his fate.” Before it's too late A child, left alone, Robbed of the warmth of his home, Will build, build a fire Out of anything, anywhere that he may roam A child, with no home, Through trials and training unknown, Will grow, and desire And build the heart of his pyre Sit with me now, watch as the story unfoldsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.