Oh, Fate! You blind dice-thrower,
Casting us onto a battlefield thick with smoke.
Ideally, you holy yet cruel spark,
Flickering and dimming amidst the bloody storm.
Young hearts, once surging like vernal waters,
Now tremble, lost beneath iron hooves.
The future is a wasteland shrouded in dense fog,
A deafened bugle, a voiceless summons.
A voyage without a map, how perilous it is,
The destination, perhaps, is but an unsealed coffin.
——Yet if you and I stand side by side,
Two lamps can illuminate the mist,
Two oars can row us to the shore.
Two broken compasses calibrating each other,
We shall promise roads to the wilderness with our wandering footprints,
Even if the sky is boundless, and the path endless.
Thus, the vernal waters flow once more,
And the morning sun rises as always.
Roaming the Wilds
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