Learn to love the cold—the crystal-clear silence, Where jagged ice binds waters deep and blue, Where in a ruined temple's forgotten niche— The wind itself conducts a service true. Perhaps it's a requiem? Perhaps it's for you? Perhaps already death with snow makes your bed? You'll lie across the steppe beneath the sky's vast view, White swaddling winds will cover you and dread... Who are you—merchant, thief, knight, usurer, wanderer lost? Cold levels all alike—money, swords, gems of cost... In this icy wasteland—we are all common folk. Only one thing matters—what is your breeding's stroke! Some seem strong today, tomorrow they're corpses cold, Others grow savage, become predators of old, Third ones, losing honor, grovel for soup to eat, Drawing pentagrams for the devil's feat... Yet there exists one breed, rare, of purest line— Those who pay with their blood for victory divine. Their courage is genuine, their youth never tames, Only God Himself knows their paths and names... Cold—cruel teacher. Those who survive—refined! Stop moving—you'll freeze, blood crystallized in your mind... Will and danger—two sides of the same coin, Devotion and hatred—two irresistible join. Learn to love the cold, live with inner fire's call. Perhaps you too will hear "The Song of Fire and Ice's thrall"... Know that mourning and wailing will come to greet, But never trade your freedom for a warm retreat!
