Beneath the snow and the blackened stone,
Where the mountain learned to breathe,
There lies a fire the world forgot,
And a truth no king can seize.
Hear the drums in the deep, deep dark,
Hear the iron answer flame—
The mountain does not sleep, they say,
It remembers every name.
Hammer to heart and stone to will,
Blood and ash entwined,
What was forged was more than steel—
It was the spine of time.
Strike the anvil, hear it call,
Thal’Korah, heart of all!
Fire below and frost above,
We were shaped by flame, not love.
Though the halls lie cold and torn,
The forge remembers how we’re born.
Magma ran like molten veins,
Moonwater hissed and sang,
Silver hands with steady breath
Where star and mountain rang.
No crown was raised, no throne was carved,
Only tools and scars—
They forged the blade that cut the Veil,
They forged the gods of war.
Not by prayer, not by spell,
But weight and time and sound,
They bent the sky into the earth
And drove the fire down.
Strike the anvil, hear it call,
Thal’Korah, heart of all!
Stoneheart glows though hammers died,
Truth still sleeps in magma’s tide.
Lost the hands, not lost the flame,
The forge still knows our names.
Listen—
The mountain beats.
Not dead.
Waiting.
Strike the anvil, hear it call,
Thal’Korah, forge of all!
If one day flame and will align,
The mountain wakes, the world must bend.
For steel may break and kings may fall—
But the forge remembers all.
So tread with care on Mount Thal’s skin,
And mind the songs you sing—
For those who wake the buried fire
Must answer everything.
