Battle of the Glass Canyon

A dirty footprint on the ground, filthy and hasty beds in the dirt/ The leading-letters in the towns, lines by the Sun's own hand/ Told the story of the flite: the fleeing golden one/ Pursued by six usurpers of the past.

Caught at last in the glass-lined canyon/ Filled by daylight's dancing banners of light/ The Nameless golden one prepared to greet his night: Many would die before they made his death.

-to be continued

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Heaven's Mandate