Claws of Resolve

He bows his head where silent tempests keep, Steel crescents gleam, awake in shadowed air. Across his chest, the scars refuse to sleep, And hunger writes its oath in tightened stare. No cheering crowd, no trumpets split the night; Only the pulse that hammers into stone. He sharpens will until it turns to light, And stands, a storm of marrow, blood, and bone.