In columns of storm winds, beneath the empyrean,
The Wanderer's breathing words of pristine rain,
Sore heart is reviving and blindness is falling,
Dead sentinels' circle will rise once again,
To preconize doctrines of kings to attendants,
And, finally, start the rebirth of the Dawn,
The Kingdom, retaining old scrolls of the Darkness,
Is marching to new lands for new Pantheon...