Forward to the mountains

Beyond the peaks I climb

Through storm and blackened winter

No respite from the sky

The stars have fallen black

No moon to guide my path

It’s as if the heavens never were conceived

The ruby stone upon my neck directs me on my way

It fears the Gate to Eschaton like a fledgling falling prey

A porphyry of sorcery it’s plain to see my jewel from the Ebon Vale

Glows hellishly

And forth I go

Its glow governs the way

It’s known thе brutish force

That Eschaton purveys

Four-hundred yеars

The stone has sat in wait

Away from its yearning master

I take it to its grave

Time is nothing but a hollow blur to me now

I have no sense of days that pass on this frigid journey

The hair upon my face is traced in thickening frost

I cannot tell if I am close, but I will die soon if I’m not

I left Milan with nothing but my winter garb

Which is now caked in ice and snow

Leaving me with numbness I have never known

I lose my footing and I fall to my face

I’ve lost the strength to stand again

Is this my death?

My eyes grow heavy

As the snow weighs me down

I’d come so far

Yet I never made it there

As I look up one last time

While the blizzard fogs the night

I see the entrance there

The gate to Eschaton

A flame erupts within my soul

I will not die this dreadful night

I hoist myself up from the ground

And rip the stone from its necklace chain

Sliding the rock into the lock

I take a step back to catch my breath

The ground below me starts to quake

Light bleeds out for the opening doors

The gem disintegrates

And I march into Eschaton