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His eyes are beacons without fire, your chest a stop, but inside an echo resounds, only a desire never understood.
He doesn't seek power or victory, he's not a god, nor a glorious end, he only longs to go down in history, a very beautiful human gesture.
Footsteps among ruins in fog, a silent place, firm and sincere, because although his body doesn't tremble, he carries a true heart.