The old stones are gone,
Platforms leading to the archives.
The old bonfires are out,
Even the flame in the tomb.
Down the hall the rug is ragged,
No more do knights kneel there.
The last knight is no more too,
Her arms resting in the hall.
They stand their vigil even now,
Ignored by the usurpers and waiting.
Take up the arms, Blade,
Take up the old firekeeper’s pact.