Remember the boy with the cerulean eyes,
the errant and diligent page, squire, knight.
Remember the eyes that always watched him,
the gaze was returned with equal strength.

Pierce the savage darkness, pull sword from gut,
slay the heathen non-believers, the ones of vile blood.
This sword pierces no cerulean man's chest,
this sword is held in the hand of his defender.

Is this the child of light, fallen to the shadows?
Is this the page who perfected to be a thrall?
Or is this simply the embodiment of loving eternity?

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Lleian, in the year 127 MA.