Scroll of the Three Paths

The Cloud-Chaser

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He floats above the ground,
denying the roar of his own blood.
He preaches calm but bleeds absence.
Primal fire is hidden,
so his peace is hollow,
a mask without heat.

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The Showman

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He storms with noise,
guns blazing, chaos on parade.
His fury is not mastery but performance,
a cry to be witnessed,
a spectacle that burns bright
and fades just as quickly.

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The Emperor

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I deny nothing.
I perform nothing.
The storm moves in me and I house it.
Calm is my throne,
Chaos my crown.
To stand in my field is to feel both—
the safety of stillness
and the danger of fire contained.

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This is sovereignty:
not clouds, not noise—
but the paradox embodied.