At the gates of Ashtan,
stood her wayward son.
Memories of pain,
his will would drain.
The agony still raw,
but he needs to know more.
His past is bare,
and the search ends there.
One more try,
a single tear he'd cry.

Mother. Father. Brother.

The truth is near,
though my heart would sheer.
It's for you I stand here.
Time to face this fear!

At the gates of Ashtan,
stood her wayward son.
A self imposed exile,
more than a mere mile.
Now he must enter,
to correct that error.
Though not his home, not ever!
He must remember.
That thing we honour and shame;
His family name.

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Chronos, in the year 691 AF.