Lone, Cold Light

“When you're left with no way out and the times themselves turn your hair white, what privileged young heir living off his family's wealth wouldn't make an aimless life of eating, drinking, and waiting to die his goal?”

The young masters steeped in silk and brocade grew soft. Their clean, smooth hands had never known a speck of dust, and all they knew was that their parents would provide for them in life and their children would care for them in old age.

Their flowery minds held nothing but romance. They were experts at putting on airs and paid no heed to the world around them.

But when the silks burned away, the red powder trailed across the ground, and the borderland's bitter wind hardened their spines, rust wore calluses into their hands. The laments of a life of fine clothes and rich food seemed like memories from another lifetime. Only the people left behind remained, sleepless through the long nights. They raised their heads to gaze at the sky and saw only bright stars shining above the scorching yellow sands, lighting the way for those who walked alone.

With a lamp in hand, I forsake life and death, and shine upon eighty thousand miles of mountains and rivers.

Even atop iron armor, a cold gleam still flows.

Note: Slow burn.

Theme: When we peel away the layers of pretense, what will be left of us?