(As sung by a wandering bard)
In the lands between the mighty Athens and the steadfast Sparta,
Lies a forgotten city, one that time has all but erased—
Akrytos, they call it, though few remember its name.
Once, it was a proud port of gold and thought,
But now, its bones lie shattered, its spirit long gone.
A place of ruin and shadow, where even the gods have turned away.
The Broken Ring, they call it—the ring of sorrow,
A slum beneath the marble hills, forgotten by all,
Where the poor and broken gather like the ash of a dying fire.
Gangs rule the streets, where children disappear into the night,
And no law stands, save the violence of the strong.
Here, the gods do not listen. Their temples are ruins,
Apollo's voice silenced, and Ares' altar bloodstained.
The air is thick with curses, whispered among the downtrodden,
For Akrytos is cursed, or so the people say,
A punishment from the heavens for sins long forgotten.
But listen close, my friend, for in the darkest depths of despair,
A new story is whispered. Not of gods, nor kings—
But of a boy, forged in the fires of suffering,
A devil, they say, but a devil with a heart yet to be broken.
In the broken streets of this forsaken city,
A legend will rise, though no crown awaits him,
Only the promise of a fate sealed in blood and flame.
So mark my words, for this is not a tale of glory or light,
But a tale of shadows, of rebirth, and of a devil turned king.
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(Note: Akrytos is a fictional city)