"Hail, Metachthonic! You there!
Chthonic human in this post-natural world
You stand in isolation from the verdant Gaian nation
All you! Welcome to Metachthonia!
Thoughtbuilt walls hold you all
You've risen from the Earth long after it birthed the age
Where cold light Shines above sun-warmth
You stand in isolation from the
Verdant Gaian nation
Though stalwart, cold logic is not enough for the pyric human to thrive and burn
If in the valley of the spirit ice lies across the river
It's never in breaking through the ice
It's in the burning of the brand
In the warming of the land-that ice will lift
All you! Welcome to Metachthonia!
Those without fire have kept you from burning brighter
At the black edge of defeat, shatter the bones of your adversary
And howl out to the glowing night; drink deep its immortality
Before we go into the ground-before the bone hand drags us in -seek the moments of Euphoria, the fires that light the great hall of a life
Relentless pursuer of enigma, incessant as the snow that falls
Stand, lungs aflame, over your prey
Drink deep of burning clarity
"Huntress! I feel so cold, so tired
I've always charged, I've never baulked
But now the summit seems so far
Huntress! Have you ever been, so cold and tired, like the dead of winter?"
"Metachthonic, you are weathered, not broken
Because it is dark will there never be light?
Because it is cold will there never be warmth?
It is not the dead of winter
It is the heart of winter
Know you not the land on which you tread?
For, under the snow, a heart beats hard
Can you not see its image in the self?
Run with me
We will hunt the spirit of the land
In the solar glow, we will hunt
Hunt with me where topos, mythos, anthropos collide
Woven to our souls we take our prize
Hear its beating heart; see the ice lift off the river
Weave this tapestry to adorn the great hall of life