Artmancer's Epics: "The Final Rest"
Ash drifts like gray snow Two small figures share the stone Silence learns their names
They sit, backs to fate Hills remember gentler days Breath is hard-won now
Below, armor moves An ocean made of malice Drums bruise the air red
The Eye never blinks Fire searching every thought Night stares straight through hope
Mount Doom coughs and roars A wound that will not close yet The end waits, breathing
Pouches lie empty Crumbs of lembas gone to dust No taste but resolve
No road leads back home Only forward, only fire Return is a myth
Frodo’s shoulders bow Ring heavier than the world Will thins, thread by thread
Sam counts quiet things Stars he cannot see tonight Promises still warm
Feet ache, eyes burn dry Sleep feels like a broken spell Rest is borrowed time
Fear sits between them Not spoken, but understood Shared like the last light
Friends feel far, yet near Every laugh and blade and tear Marches in their hearts
If they fail, all falls Fields, songs, and unborn mornings Hang on this last step
They rise without words Small hands steady trembling fate Courage learns their shape
Ash dims the starlight Two shadows walk toward the fire Their true final rest
