TS wakes abruptly on his study’s couch atop the Ridge of Revelation, the room heavy with the residue of broken sleep and anticipation for election day. The oak desk, dragon family crest, and opposing mirror are aligned. Through the window, the unsuspecting Hills of Hope stand in silence as the Weeping Willow reflects the early light. 

TS sits up trembling and sweating. Then, he releases and takes a deep breath realizing that it was just a dream. TS sits back and recounts what happened to himself:

suddenly i beheld

at the jail of the debate

a sheep holding lamb of god

and the dragon of my fate

thou shalt gave command
his judgment clear and cold
no mercy for the wavering soul
no room for doubt to hold

sheep’s blade raised to fall
as the law has always been
to guard the church from freedom
and cleanse what lives within

but the old sheep that wore

that monastic cassock coarse

he released the lamb in silence 

without a use of force

TS sits puzzled about what all of this means. And then it hits him like a thunderbolt ripping into his consciousness. He stutters:

but . . . the old sheep

who failed the ridge’s law 

and shamed my family line

was me, not the dragon’s claw

i was the one who trembled
who could not strike the blow
the keeper of the doctrine
who let the prisoner go

i wore the robes of judgment

but could not bear the name

TS pauses and then continues, slowly, feeling the weight of his identity: 

what if the voice i carry

is not the one i claim

TS stands up and walks to the window, facing the unexpecting Hills through the window. His silent gaze is broken by a grin. TS continues, confidently: 

no, this crack is treason

no weakness shall take root

the voice that turned against me 

must be rendered mute

the mountain does not wait

for those who doubt their hand

order is not given

it is taken by command

if i am not the myth

then chaos takes the field

so i will become the dragon 

i shall decide and not yield

TS rises, crosses to the desk, and reaches for his phone.