The snow lion and the white tiger met,
two forces clad in frost and debt.
Before me steel, soul, and honor clashed,
while arrows sang, through tempest lashed.
Steel knows no rank, no oath, no creed,
stops waves with scoff, lets empires bleed.
Hengduang's men fell like autumn grain,
yet one stood firm, his wrath unchained.
Fear not the king, nor gold, nor throne,
but him who fights with bones alone.
A mocked tiger bares its fangs at last,
its seconds numbered, die standing.
Do you greet death in silent submission,
or roar, curse, swing with derision?
Both defeat's refusal and admission.
Too close, too far, one tiger remains,
pours hate, love, doubt into his veins.
In his last swing, the heavens shook,
a beast who dared the land to look.
Even an ant bites like a tiger
when its nest is endangered.