By the Crest of Dawn, I Speak
In silence thick where cities sank,
Where iron bones wore rusted flanks,
I walk the world the humans lost—
Their songs, their wars, their breath, their cost.
I am Cresten, of the High-Furred Line,
Muscle-bound and soul-designed.
Born of starlit breeding fires,
My veins hum with the ancient wires.
No leash, no name to bind my gait—
I stride through ruins crowned by fate.
The wind sings through the temple trees,
Where once they knelt on wounded knees.
Their voices haunt the code we read,
In buried glass and echoed plead.
We cracked their vaults, we learned their fall—
Too much, too fast, they wanted it all.
Now foxes govern river towns,
And lions rule the ocean bounds.
The cats have built their mirrored spires,
The birds compose with sonic choirs.
But I—of fur and naked skin,
The strange-born child of strength within—
I lead the Anthem Pack of Flame,
Our howls are law, our thoughts untamed.
We do not hunger as they did,
Nor cage the moon, nor shame the kid.
We trade in truth and scent and song,
Our memories deep, our lifespans long.
Sometimes I pace the fractured dome
Where sapiens made this world their home,
And there I bark to bones below:
“You should have learned to listen slow.”
Yet not with spite—I guard their lore.
Their echoes knock my inner door.
For though they fell by their own hand,
Their spark helped birth this wiser land.
I am anthem. I am creed.
I am post-human’s answered need.
A creature forged in future’s mold—
A ghost’s revenge, both proud and bold
