Fury rises, wild and bright,
a blaze that eats the endless night.
It climbs, it roars, it burns the bone—
A world consumed, yet still alone.
Then comes frost, a silent curse,
colder than the universe.
It creeps, it coils, it drains the breath,
a frozen hush, a whispered death.
Between the two, the soul is torn,
Scorched by flame, by ice forlorn.
Which is worse? To melt, to break—
to die in fire, or never wake?