The Rise of the Forsaken

You taught me to soar,
to stretch my trembling wings,
to carve my name into the sky—
and I believed in you, blindly, wholly.

We flew together, chasing the heavens,
riding the winds like gods,
until the stars bowed beneath our feet—
until I trusted you more than gravity itself.

But when I spoke, when I bared my soul,
you veered away without a trace,
left me alone in endless air,
wings faltering, heart caving in.

Everything you gave me,
every whisper of wisdom,
burned to ash in a single breath,
and I fell—silent, forgotten, betrayed.

I plunged into the abyss,
drowning in the blue of my sorrow,
dragged under by the weight of your ghost,
lost in waters too deep to escape.

But the depths did not devour me.
The dark did not claim me.
Instead, it reforged me—
fury carving fire into my veins,
vengeance sharpening my bones to steel.

And when I rose from the wreckage,
I was no longer the fool who trusted.
I was no longer the wing you clipped.
I was the storm, the hunter, the reckoning.

You left me to fall,
but now I rise as something greater.
Not the fragile thing you abandoned—
but a beast with wings of fire,
and a heart that will never break again.