You know,
I owe a lot
to my ancestors.
They were a people
born from an unholy frost
with skin thicker than leather.
They piloted wooden ships
with iron spirits
and dared to sail
into foreign waters,
knowing full well
that any moment,
this moment,
could be their last.
They were seers,
and could gaze ahead
in time.
They were beserkers,
and could borrow a wild wolve’s
battle lust
to freeze enemies
in their place.
You could knock them down
and again
and again
only to witness
their incredible rebirth,
like a frostborn pheonix,
burning brighter
and hotter
with every battle
that brought them closer
to  death.
You may have brought me
to my knees now,
but I promise you,
that the blood of my ice-crowned ancestors
surges through me,
and you will rue the day
you decided
to let me live.


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