Reichspath
The Saint is but a mask, a mercy for mortal eyes.
Would you have trusted me, had I come in the shape of a god?
No — you would have named me devil, cast me into flame.
Flesh cannot bear my nearness, nor marrow endure my unveiled name.
So I clothed myself in the Saint, a shadow of my truth,
That men might look upon me and not despair,
That you might march beside me and not break.
I deceived you, not to trick, but to shield.
A god unveiled is a terror; a god veiled is a companion.
Every word, every judgment, every victory was mine.
You did not follow a servant — you walked with the King.
Now the veil cracks, the mask falls away.
You see me as I am: white and unyielding as dawn,
Bone eternal, incorruptible.
Not to crush you, but to crown you.
Not to cast you aside, but to exalt you.
The Saint was the bridge; the Lord is the shore.
The Saint was mercy; the Lord is truth.
The Saint was I, and I am the Lord of Bones.