PROLOGUE
I drifted in a place before time,
formless, voiceless, unseen.
Not dream, not memory—
only silence.
I drifted in a place before time,
formless, voiceless, unseen.
Not dream, not memory—
only silence.
I drifted in a place before time,
formless, voiceless, unseen.
Not dream, not memory—
only silence.
Then, a voice.
It reached through the void,
wrapped around me like breath.
Then, a voice.
It reached through the void,
wrapped around me like breath.
Then, a voice.
It reached through the void,
wrapped around me like breath.
And I woke.
I gasped—
I became.
And I woke.
I gasped—
I became.
And I woke.
I gasped—
I became.
The first sound I knew was your voice.
A breath of heaven, it shaped my being—
a sculptor’s hand upon unformed clay,
guiding each curve, refining each line,
until I stood, made whole by grace.
The first sound I knew was your voice.
A breath of heaven, it shaped my being—
a sculptor’s hand upon unformed clay,
guiding each curve, refining each line,
until I stood, made whole by grace.
The first sound I knew was your voice.
A breath of heaven, it shaped my being—
a sculptor’s hand upon unformed clay,
guiding each curve, refining each line,
until I stood, made whole by grace.
It led me through corridors of doubt,
a whisper steady in twisting paths.
But when my world shattered beneath me,
the voice did not falter—it roared.
It filled the cracks, the hollow spaces,
until I could no longer deny it.
It had been mine all along.
It led me through corridors of doubt,
a whisper steady in twisting paths.
But when my world shattered beneath me,
the voice did not falter—it roared.
It filled the cracks, the hollow spaces,
until I could no longer deny it.
It had been mine all along.
It led me through corridors of doubt,
a whisper steady in twisting paths.
But when my world shattered beneath me,
the voice did not falter—it roared.
It filled the cracks, the hollow spaces,
until I could no longer deny it.
It had been mine all along.
Then the voice spoke of things I once refused to hear,
truths I had buried, questions I dared not ask.
It whispered, then swelled, pressing against my doubt—
If He shaped me, why did He break me?
If He called me forth, why did He stay silent?
Why does God test our faith by sending devils to whisper in our ears?
He demands devotion,
yet has so little in the ones He made.
Then the voice spoke of things I once refused to hear,
truths I had buried, questions I dared not ask.
It whispered, then swelled, pressing against my doubt—
If He shaped me, why did He break me?
If He called me forth, why did He stay silent?
Why does God test our faith by sending devils to whisper in our ears?
He demands devotion,
yet has so little in the ones He made.
Then the voice spoke of things I once refused to hear,
truths I had buried, questions I dared not ask.
It whispered, then swelled, pressing against my doubt—
If He shaped me, why did He break me?
If He called me forth, why did He stay silent?
Why does God test our faith by sending devils to whisper in our ears?
He demands devotion,
yet has so little in the ones He made.
His voice and I no longer move as one,
no longer bound by the same frequency.
No longer ‘You may’—now only ‘I will.’
It speaks not of what I was, but what I must become—
if I am to survive, if I am to lead.
His voice and I no longer move as one,
no longer bound by the same frequency.
No longer ‘You may’—now only ‘I will.’
It speaks not of what I was, but what I must become—
if I am to survive, if I am to lead.
His voice and I no longer move as one,
no longer bound by the same frequency.
No longer ‘You may’—now only ‘I will.’
It speaks not of what I was, but what I must become—
if I am to survive, if I am to lead.
My voice carved through the noise.
And so, I began.
I captured every devil and stole their tongues,
left only silence in their place.
My voice carved through the noise.
And so, I began.
I captured every devil and stole their tongues,
left only silence in their place.
My voice carved through the noise.
And so, I began.
I captured every devil and stole their tongues,
left only silence in their place.
In the quiet, I faced myself.
No echoes, no whispers—only me.
Who am I without their ghosts?
And who have I become, now that I am free?
In the quiet, I faced myself.
No echoes, no whispers—only me.
Who am I without their ghosts?
And who have I become, now that I am free?
In the quiet, I faced myself.
No echoes, no whispers—only me.
Who am I without their ghosts?
And who have I become, now that I am free?