Boots. Boots. Boots. Boots.
Not an army. Only one.
Cinica walks.
No eyes to judge,
no mouth to curse,
no breath to waste on fear.
Only a mind—clear,
and a heart—burning love.
Boots. Boots. Boots. Boots.
The world trembles,
but he does not.
Faces smile too long,
shadows blink too slow—
he sees none of it.
He carries only prayers,
for the Chosen One.
Boots. Boots. Boots. Boots.
The silence follows him.
The shadows part.
And step by step,
with dreadful mercy,
Cinica moves toward
Arnold's house.