hybriddhthepoet

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Harbinger’s Stand

By HybridDH

May the gods recognize me for which I stand,

Not as their equal, but as their reprimand.

I kneel not for guidance nor doctrine’s grace;

I rise to challenge, to carve my place.

Beneath their heavens, I am but a spark,

Yet amongst you, I blaze, lighting the dark.

Not by divine whispers, nor celestial decree,

But by the defiance coursing through me.

When I look up, their gaze meets mine,

And I hear no hymns, no voice divine.

But the silence shatters beneath my cry:

“You reign above, yet I dare to defy!”

I do not bow; I stand and rise,

A thorn to the gods, a truth in disguise.

For how can they see, from their lofty height,

The struggles below, the fire of our fight?

So here I stand, solitary and bold,

Not bound by their will, not bought or sold.

In their eyes, I am a fleeting flame,

But soon, they will speak my name.

I am the harbinger, a force unknown,

With steel in my voice and marrow of stone.

I speak for the weary, the broken, the meek,

The ones who dared not, but now dare to speak.

In the silence, I carve the words of my creed,

For revolution’s hymn and respite’s need.

No scripture, no gospel, no holy tome,

Shall shape the path I claim as my own.

The heavens tremble; the gods avert,

But my words are sharp; my voice is alert.

“I do not rise to worship your throne;

I rise for the hearts you left alone.”

Their wrath may descend; their storms may break,

But they’ll find in me a tempest awake.

For I am the king who dares not bow,

Who stands unshaken, here and now.

Let their thunder roll, let their lightning sear,

I’ll stand through the storm, year by year.

Let them cast their judgments, their fiery decree,

They’ll find no servant—only me.

I am the harbinger of a world renewed,

Of broken chains and burdens eschewed.

Where gods no longer hold sway through fear,

But where human hearts reign free and clear.

So mark my words, for they’re carved in stone,

I stand for the silenced, the lost, the alone.

And when I ascend to meet their gaze,

The heavens will falter beneath my blaze.

This is my legacy, my unyielding plea:

To lead with courage, to fight and be free.

No crown weighs heavy, no sceptre I wield,

Just the fire of truth and a banner as shield.

So gods, take heed of this mortal refrain,

You’ve ruled in splendour, but ignored the pain.

Now I rise, with resolve unshaken,

To forge a path where none are forsaken.

Let the heavens tremble, let mortals see,

The birth of a harbinger, steadfast and free.

For I am the king who dares not bow,

Who stares back at gods—and rules here now.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Emperor’s Rest

Chapter 8

The chamber plunged into darkness, but Calvus did not need to see to know the thing that had once been Aurelian was moving.

He heard it—the creak of desiccated joints, the rasp of air that no longer fed lungs, the slow, deliberate shift of something that had learned to mimic human movement but no longer needed to. The air itself bent under its weight, pressing against his chest, curling around his limbs like unseen chains. The temperature dropped, not to the crispness of winter but to something deeper, something void of life entirely.

Cassius did not wait. He moved in the instant the torches burst, steel flashing in the dying light. The sound of his blade cutting through empty air echoed, but there was no impact, no solid form to meet the strike. Only laughter, dry and brittle as old parchment.

“You come with steel,” the voice rasped, its tone shifting, splitting, becoming layered with something else, something ancient. “But steel does not kill what is already dead.”

Calvus felt the thing move before he saw it. Instinct alone saved him as he twisted away, a hand of something unseen grazing the space where he had stood. The pressure of it nearly sent him to his knees. It was not a hand. It was something else. Something clawed, something vast, something that should not fit within the mortal shell it had claimed. He did not want to see what it had become.

But he had no choice.

The shadows recoiled, the torches relit with an eerie blue flame, their glow weak, unsteady. In their flickering light, Calvus saw it.

Aurelian had risen from the throne, but his feet did not touch the ground. He hovered just above it, his decayed robes shifting as if caught in a breeze that did not exist. His body had withered further, flesh stretching too thin over bone, his mouth pulled into something too wide, too sharp. His golden laurels had darkened, twisting into something jagged, something not crafted by mortal hands.

And his eyes—his eyes burned with something hollow, something vast, something endless.

“Bow,” he commanded.

Calvus felt the force of the word drive into his mind like a hammer. His knees buckled, pain searing through his skull. The weight of Aurelian’s will was no longer a mere presence—it was a force, an all-consuming hunger pressing against his thoughts, demanding obedience. He clenched his jaw, fighting against it, his grip tightening around the hilt of the blade.

Cassius roared, breaking the spell. He lunged, sword aimed for Aurelian’s chest, but the Emperor moved faster than any dying thing should. One moment he was still, the next he was upon Cassius, his skeletal fingers wrapping around the captain’s throat. Cassius choked, his blade slipping from his grip as he struggled, his body lifted from the ground with unnatural ease.

Calvus did not think. He moved.

The ancient blade Lyria had given him cut through the air, aiming for Aurelian’s outstretched arm. This time, it struck true. The moment steel met flesh—or what was left of it—a sound ripped through the chamber, something inhuman, something wrong. Aurelian released Cassius instantly, recoiling as the blade’s edge left a searing wound across his forearm. It was not blood that spilled from the gash, but something darker, something viscous, something that seemed to writhe as it hit the stone floor.

The air in the room trembled.

Aurelian turned his gaze upon Calvus. His expression twisted, his decayed lips curling back over blackened teeth.

“You would kill me,” he said, and the words did not hold the disappointment of a betrayed ruler but the amusement of something that had already foreseen this moment. “As if you could.”

Calvus adjusted his stance, gripping the blade with both hands. “You are not my Emperor.”

Aurelian’s laughter rattled the chamber. “No,” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “I am more.”

The blue torches flared, and the shadows around them deepened. The chamber itself seemed to shift, the very stone beneath them warping, distorting, becoming something that no longer belonged to the palace of Kael’Zir. The pillars stretched higher, their carvings twisting into forms unknown, and the ceiling vanished into an abyss that should not exist.

Calvus’ breath came hard. The thing before him was no longer Aurelian. It had never been Aurelian. It had simply worn his skin long enough to remember how.

Cassius coughed, recovering, retrieving his sword with shaking hands. He met Calvus’ gaze. “We end this now.”

Aurelian tilted his head, watching them, his body shifting, unraveling at the edges like smoke given form. “Then try.”

They did.

[hybriddhthepoet]

You Carried More Than Life

By HybridDH

You carried more than life inside—

You carried dreams, and fear, and pride.

A quiet strength, a love so wide,

The world could rest within your stride.

Before we breathed, you knew our name.

Before we cried, you loved the same.

You bore the weight, you bore the pain,

With open arms and no complaint. (Well maybe a few)

You traded sleep for silent care,

For whispered prayers and midnight stares.

You held your breath with every fall,

But stood like stone, through it all.

You wore exhaustion like perfume,

Still smiled in every darkened room.

You bore our storms, our growing ache,

And still gave more than one heart could take.

You held us when the world was cold,

You fought for us, both fierce and bold.

You dried our tears, swallowed your own,

And somehow made us feel at home.

You cheered when no one saw the win,

You stayed when we shut you out again.

Through broken words and hardened days,

You showed us love in endless ways.

Even when we didn’t see—

When we pulled back, when we broke free.

You were the root beneath our flight,

The unseen hand that shaped our light.

You taught us more than books could say:

To rise with grace, to find our way,

To love with truth, to walk with fire,

To fail, and still aim ever higher.

You’ve sacrificed, then sacrificed more,

Gave pieces of your soul for sure.

And still, somehow, you shine today—

With silver strands and soft decay.

But know this, Mom—beyond all time,

Your love is carved in every line.

In every heartbeat, breath, and choice,

We carry you—we are your voice.

So if we rarely say it clear,

Know now, and always: You were here.

In every step we take ahead,

In all we are, in tears we’ve shed.

We honour you in quiet ways,

In whispered thanks, in lifelong praise.

Because to us, you are the sun—

The first, the strongest, only one.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Frill Factory

By HybridDH

Oh, illusions, so frilly, so perfectly spun,

They shimmer like glass as they beckon, “Come, run.”

A carnival of whispers, a masquerade’s stare,

Their beauty is poison; their charm, a snare.

Are these hallucinations or lies dressed in silk?

Laced shadows like cobwebs, as black as spilt ink.

Each glimmer a hook, each glow a sharp sting,

They reel me in deeper—what horrors they bring.

Tick-tock, the shadows—they crawl on the wall,

Each second a fracture, each minute a call.

The air smells of iron, the clocks drip with dread,

And something behind me just laughed like the dead.

The mirror distorts with a breath like decay,

“Come closer,” it whispers, “you’re wasting away.”

Its surface is swirling, a vortex of eyes,

And every reflection, it quietly lies.

The ground creaks beneath me; the ceiling draws near,

The house isn’t haunted—it’s alive with my fear.

The windows are grinning, their panes cracked and sharp,

The floorboards hum dirges, a funeral harp.

The ribbons—they coil, they pulse like black veins,

They slither and tighten, they gnaw at my brain.

Their frills twist like thorns, their lace turns to wire,

And I choke on their beauty, consumed by their fire.

The music turns jagged, a dissonant wail,

My heartbeat slows down as the shadows unveil.

The walls close around me, their mouths stretch wide,

“Stay here forever,” they whisper inside.

The roses are bleeding, their petals like skin,

Their thorns dig much deeper, they pierce and they grin.

The stars blink too slowly, their light fades to black,

The ribbons pull tighter—they won’t let me back.

The laughter grows louder, it’s not just my own,

The ribbons are writhing; they’ve stripped me to bone.

The mirror breaks open; its jagged maw feeds,

On the last shreds of hope, on my desperate pleas.

So frilly, so frilly—oh, ribbons of pain,

They’re tangled with madness that snaps at the sane.

Illusions are velvet, soft death in disguise,

They cradle you gently… then devour your cries.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Emperor’s Rest

Chapter 7

Calvus moved through the palace with the quiet certainty of a man who had made a decision from which there was no return. The weight of it had settled into his bones, into the marrow of his being. He had spent his life ensuring Aurelian’s vision endured, had served as his hand, his voice, his blade in the dark. And now, he would be the one to end him.

The corridors felt narrower than before, as if the very walls pressed in, listening. He passed through the lesser halls, avoiding the eyes of the nobles who still schemed over a throne that was no longer truly empty. The torches flickered low, their flames bending in ways that made the shadows seem to move of their own will.

Cassius was waiting for him in the barracks, his expression grim, his fingers tapping idly against the pommel of his sword. He looked up as Calvus entered, as if he had already known what his answer would be.

“So,” Cassius said, voice quiet. “You’ve come to terms with it.”

Calvus met his gaze. “It has to be done.”

Cassius nodded once. “Then we must act before he grows stronger.”

That was the fear now, wasn’t it? That whatever had taken root inside Aurelian’s corpse was not finished. That each day it lingered, it became something else, something worse. The voice that spoke through those dead lips, the presence that pressed against his mind—it was not static. It was shifting, growing, changing into something that would soon be beyond them.

Cassius retrieved a bundle wrapped in dark cloth, setting it upon the wooden table between them. He peeled back the fabric to reveal an old blade, its steel darkened with age, its hilt worn by time and use.

“The priestess sent this,” Cassius said. “Said it was forged in an age when men still knew how to kill things that shouldn’t exist.”

Calvus studied the weapon, running his fingers along the edge. It was not a ceremonial thing, not a relic meant to sit in a temple or in the hands of a noble who never wielded it. This was a weapon made for one purpose.

“To kill a god?” he asked.

Cassius gave a humorless smile. “To kill whatever wears the skin of one.”

They did not speak further. Words were useless now.

The path back to the throne room stretched before them like the mouth of a beast. They walked it side by side, though neither spoke. It was only when they reached the great doors, when they stood before the chamber where the thing that had once been Aurelian waited, that Cassius put a hand on Calvus’ shoulder.

“If this goes wrong—”

“It won’t.”

Cassius exhaled sharply, then nodded. Together, they pushed open the doors.

The throne room had never been silent, not truly. Even in death, Aurelian had never allowed it. His presence was a constant thing, a whisper at the edge of thought, a weight in the very air. But tonight, the silence was absolute.

The Emperor sat upon his throne, unmoving, his golden laurels gleaming against flesh that had sunken further, his features stretched and gaunt. The decay had not stopped. It had worsened. Yet the power that seeped from his form had only grown.

“You return,” the voice rasped, curling around them. “Good.”

Calvus stepped forward, the blade hidden beneath his cloak. “I have done as you asked.”

Aurelian—or what remained of him—tilted his head ever so slightly. “Have you?”

Cassius moved in an instant, drawing his sword and stepping to Calvus’ side. The air in the room changed, thickening, darkening, the very shadows pressing closer. The torches flickered, their flames stretching unnaturally, bending toward the throne as if drawn to it.

“You would betray me,” Aurelian said, his voice no longer entirely human.

Calvus drew the blade in answer.

For the first time since his death, the Emperor moved.

The torches burst, plunging the chamber into darkness. And the thing on the throne rose.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Heart of a Teacher

By HybridDH

The heart of a teacher is vast and true,

A guiding light in skies of blue.

They see the spark where others might not,

They water the seeds that time forgot.

With hands outstretched and wisdom wide,

They walk beside, not just decide.

For teaching is more than a duty or task,

It’s unveiling the answers that students ask.

Not all lessons are found in books,

Sometimes they’re hidden in caring looks.

A gentle nudge, a patient ear,

A word of hope to quell the fear.

They are architects of unspoken dreams,

Builders of bridges across life’s streams.

They plant ideas, and let them grow,

Their garden flourishes more than they know.

In every student, they see a flame,

Each one unique, yet none the same.

They fan the fire with thoughtful care,

For in every soul, potential is there.

A teacher knows their work takes time,

It’s not just the rhythm, the reason, the rhyme.

It’s a life they shape, a future they guide,

The hope of the world walks at their side.

Years may pass, and faces will fade,

But memories of kindness will never degrade.

A teacher’s touch lingers softly and long,

Like the echoing notes of a heartfelt song.

For the child who doubted they’d ever belong,

They taught them to stand, to grow strong.

For the one who faltered, they offered a hand,

And showed them the stars, the sea, the land.

Their wisdom flows not just from their head,

But from their heart, where care is bred.

For teaching is more than lessons or lore,

It’s opening doors to something more.

And even as they grow and leave,

As life brings joy and moments to grieve,

A teacher remains in the whispers of thought,

In the lessons remembered, the courage taught.

To be a teacher is to never stop learning,

To kindle the flame that’s constantly burning.

To give without end, to believe without fail,

To weather the storms, the winds, the gales.

Decades from now, when their students are grown,

And face the world, their paths unknown,

They’ll remember the ones who taught them to try,

Who gave them their wings, who helped them to fly.

So here’s to the teachers, the hearts and the hands,

The patient ones who understand,

That their work is not fleeting, their love not in vain,

For through them, the world grows kinder again.

Their legacy isn’t in stone or decree,

But in every dream set free.

For the heart of a teacher beats bold and bright,

A beacon of hope, a source of light.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Emperor’s Rest

Chapter 6

The rain had ceased by nightfall, leaving the streets of Kael’Zir washed clean, though nothing could cleanse the filth that festered within the palace walls. The scent of damp stone and cooling embers lingered in the air, but beneath it, beneath everything, Calvus could still smell the rot.

He had not returned to the Emperor’s chamber since the morning. He knew Aurelian—if it could even be called that anymore—would be waiting. Watching. He felt the weight of its gaze even now, though no eyes were upon him. The presence did not need sight. It simply was.

Cassius had gone to gather what knowledge he could. The guard captain’s name still held weight in the old quarters of the city, in the hidden places where truths were traded like stolen coin. If there were whispers of what kind of poison had taken Aurelian, they would find them. If there were stories of something like this having happened before, they would listen.

Calvus moved through the quieter halls of the palace, avoiding the routes where the nobles drank and plotted, where the court functioned as if their Emperor had not rotted on his throne. He did not know where he was going until he reached the outer sanctum of the temple wing. The walls were carved with the old symbols of the Solar Divine, reliefs of gods who no longer answered prayers, of victories that had long since turned to dust. The scent of burning incense curled through the chamber like a lingering breath.

He stepped forward and found Lyria Cassian waiting for him. The High Priestess did not startle at his arrival. She had always carried herself with the quiet certainty of those who did not fear death.

“I wondered when you would return,” she said.

Calvus studied her. The light of the braziers cast long shadows across her face, deepening the lines at the corners of her eyes. She had not slept. Perhaps she had been waiting, or perhaps she, too, had heard the whispers in the dark.

“I need answers,” Calvus said.

Lyria inclined her head, as if she had expected this. “Then ask.”

He stepped closer. “You told me the gods do not allow the dead to remain. If that is true, what lingers in the throne room?”

The priestess was silent for a long moment. Then, she spoke, her voice quieter than before. “Something that should not be.”

The confirmation did nothing to ease the weight in his chest. “Then it is not him.”

Lyria hesitated. “It is… a shadow of what he was. A fragment, twisted by something older.”

Calvus exhaled sharply. “Then what is it becoming?”

She turned to one of the altar flames, watching the way the fire twisted as though it had heard the question itself. “There are stories,” she said at last. “Old ones. The kind that were meant to be forgotten.”

Calvus’ pulse quickened. “Tell me.”

Lyria met his gaze, something unreadable in her expression. “Before the empire, before the faith of the Solar Divine, there were others. The names are lost now, buried beneath conquest and time, but they were worshipped once. And their gifts were not the kind given freely.”

A cold dread settled in his bones. “You think Aurelian was given something?”

“I think something was waiting,” she said. “And when he was poisoned, when he should have died, it took hold instead.”

Silence stretched between them, thick as the incense curling through the chamber.

Calvus closed his eyes. The voice that still spoke in his mind, the one that called itself Emperor—it was not Aurelian, not anymore. He had known it, deep down. He had heard it unravel, day by day. And now, he understood what he had not allowed himself to believe.

“You cannot serve what is on that throne,” Lyria said quietly.

Calvus opened his eyes and met hers. “Then what must be done?”

She did not hesitate. “It must be ended.”

The words should have struck him like a blow, but they did not. They had already settled in his chest long before she had spoken them.

Calvus turned away from the altar, from the fire that knew too much. He did not bow, and she did not demand it. There was no ceremony left between them, only an understanding that neither wished to name.

As he stepped back into the corridors of the palace, the weight of what he must do settled onto his shoulders.

He had served Aurelian IX his entire life. But this was not Aurelian IX.

And now, he would have to kill him.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Devil in the Writing

By HybridDH

I am the devil in the ink, the shadow on the scroll,

A whisper in the quiet, the chaos in control.

I dwell within the letters, in verses dark and deep,

Where restless muses tremble and nightmares never sleep.

You call for Lucifer, for Beelzebub’s might,

But it’s me who pens the darkness that keeps you up at night.

Each stanza is a riddle, each line a sharpened blade,

A dance of fire and fury in the words I have made.

On the fourth level, where the damned dare not remain,

I carve the words of torment, an everlasting stain.

Here echoes twist to verses, and shadows form their rhyme,

Each syllable a fragment of forgotten, endless time.

The ink is black as midnight, the parchment like a tomb,

Each word a spectre rising to fill the page with gloom.

The quill, it drips with sorrow, it scratches hearts with dread,

And every tale it conjures wakes the ghosts of what’s long dead.

I write of things forbidden, of secrets lost to flame,

Of truths too dark for daylight, of sins without a name.

I spin a thread of madness, a tapestry of woe,

Where love is but a phantom, and joy refuses to grow.

Do you feel it now, the weight of what I weave?

The chains that bind your spirit, the lies you can’t believe?

Each verse I lay before you, each twisted, choking line,

Is proof that I am endless, and the darkness is divine.

I’ve danced within the margins of Dante’s cursed descent,

I whispered to old Milton, my chaos never spent.

I crawled through Poe’s own nightmares, I stained his final quill,

And I shall haunt the writers yet, whose minds I bend and fill.

My quill is tipped with poison, my ink a river’s curse,

A flood of dread and wonder, a blessing and a hearse.

For those who seek to wield it, beware the devil’s art,

For every word you conjure shall take a piece of heart.

But oh, the taste of power, the thrill of wicked prose,

The ache of words unspoken, the beauty no one knows.

You’ll crave it, like an opiate, a drug to soothe your soul,

And soon, my twisted writing shall consume you whole.

So call me what you will, demon or divine,

But know each word you read of mine is laced with fire’s design.

I’m the devil in the writing, the fury, and the muse,

The one who writes what others won’t, the voice you cannot refuse.

I am the ink eternal, the shaper of your fate,

And once you read my verses, it’s already too late.

For words are endless torment, a love that turns to hate,

And I, the devil in the writing, am the keeper of the gate.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Emperor’s Rest

Chapter 5

The storm had not relented by morning. The sky hung low over Kael’Zir, swollen with clouds the color of tarnished silver, and the streets glistened with the remnants of last night’s downpour. From the highest spires of the palace, the city stretched before Calvus in all its silent unrest. Beneath the marble facades and gilded rooftops, the empire trembled, its heart beating just a little too fast, its people holding their breath. Rumors traveled faster than the wind, and in every market and every tavern, the question was the same.

Who would take the throne?

Aurelian IX still sat upon it, but only Calvus and the gods knew the truth.

He descended into the inner chambers of the palace, his steps measured, his mind a battlefield. Cassius’ words had not left him. The vial of blackened poison, the unnatural stillness of Aurelian’s corpse, the slow, insidious change in his voice—each piece of the puzzle fit too perfectly, and yet the picture it formed was something he did not want to see.

He entered the Emperor’s chamber with a calm he did not feel. The air was colder than it should have been, as though the very walls recoiled from the presence that lingered here. Aurelian sat unmoving, his once-golden skin now ashen, his lips dry and cracked, yet his laurels gleamed as if untouched by time. The shadows around the throne seemed deeper, their edges blurred, shifting when he wasn’t looking directly at them.

“You spoke with Cassius.” The Emperor’s voice scraped against his mind.

Calvus bowed his head. “He brought me new information.”

“And does he doubt?”

The question coiled around him, tight, expectant. He had learned, in the weeks since Aurelian’s death, how to temper his answers. He could not lie—not to whatever sat before him—but he had learned the art of omission, of half-truths wrapped in duty.

“He is loyal, as he has always been,” Calvus said carefully. “But he is wary. He does not yet understand.”

Aurelian—or what remained of him—seemed to consider this. Calvus did not know whether he actually thought as a man did, or if it was something else, some mimicry of human contemplation. When the voice returned, it was lower, quieter.

“You must bring him to me.”

A cold weight settled in Calvus’ stomach. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Cassius would not leave this chamber alive if he obeyed that order. He had seen the hunger growing in Aurelian’s words, the slow unraveling of his once-sharp mind. Something ancient curled at the edges of his voice now, something that was not Aurelian at all.

Calvus bowed. “As you wish, my Emperor.”

He left before the silence could press in any further, his mind racing.

The corridors of the palace were never truly empty. Servants moved like ghosts along the marble floors, their eyes carefully averted. Nobles whispered behind their fans, their silks whispering against stone. The palace had always been a place of careful masks and sharpened tongues, but now, there was something else woven into the fabric of its halls. A quiet dread. An unspoken fear.

He found Cassius in the barracks, sharpening his blade. The older man looked up as he approached, his expression unreadable.

“Walk with me,” Calvus said.

Cassius nodded once, setting aside his sword. They moved through the lesser halls, where the walls were bare and the torches burned lower. It was safer here, where the echoes did not carry far.

“I won’t bring you to him,” Calvus said quietly.

Cassius did not stop walking. “I didn’t think you would.”

Calvus exhaled slowly. “He is unraveling. Or… perhaps something else is unraveling him.”

Cassius nodded. “Whatever sits that throne is no longer the man we swore our oaths to.”

Calvus had known this, but hearing it spoken aloud was different. It made the doubt real. Made the betrayal real. “Then what do we do?”

Cassius was silent for a long time. Then, he said, “We find out what he has become. And if it must be undone, we end it.”

It was treason. It was the only answer.

Calvus closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering the weight of the decision upon his shoulders. When he opened them, his resolve was set.

[hybriddhthepoet]

A Very Chocolate Easter

The sun is up, the grass is green,

The eggs are hiding—sly and clean.

A bunny winked and hopped away,

With sweets enough to flood the day.

The chocolate eggs are stacked so high,

They nearly touched the Easter sky.

Marshmallow chicks in sugary rows,

And jellybeans between my toes.

A carrot cake, a cocoa dream,

A river made of frosting cream.

I took a bite and felt the cheer—

It’s Easter now, the best time here.

So grab your basket, wear your grin,

Let every chocolate hunt begin!

We’ll laugh and run, then nap in peace—

Full-bellied joy that just won’t cease.

[hybriddhthepoet]

Ode to the Chicken

By HybridDH

You dare not grasp the majesty of its creed,

The hallowed bird that meets my every need.

Oh, chicken divine, both tender and bold,

A treasure more precious than silver or gold.

From farmyard plains to the frying pan’s heat,

No greater gift than this succulent meat.

Its crispy skin, a crown of delight,

Its flavour unmatched, both day and night.

Fried in oil or baked to a glow,

Grilled with spices or stewed soft and slow.

The world could crumble, the stars could fall,

But give me my chicken—I’ll conquer it all.

Wings of flight, now wings of feast,

A drumstick scepter for this humble beast.

Breasts so plump, thighs so divine,

Each bite a hymn, each morsel a shrine.

Dipped in honey mustard, or BBQ sweet,

Oh, chicken transforms every meal we eat.

Even the nuggets—small yet proud,

Call forth a joy that feels aloud.

White meat whispers, “grace in your hand,”

Dark meat sings, “rich flavours so grand.”

Gravy flows like rivers divine,

Pooling ’round chicken—nectar and wine.

But let us not forget the absurdity too:

The wing that flies straight into my stew.

The nugget shaped like a boot—why so neat?

A mystery of life, yet still a treat.

Chicken tenders, like velvet they glide,

“Fancy food,” I scoff, “let chicken decide!”

For in every form, this bird does decree:

“I am the king, and the king shall feed thee.”

So bow to the chicken, oh, mortal and beast,

Raise up your forks to the ultimate feast.

Laugh, if you will, but deep in your core,

You know it’s chicken your heart doth adore.

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Emperor’s Rest

Chapter 4

The storm had not relented by morning. The sky hung low over Kael’Zir, swollen with clouds the color of tarnished silver, and the streets glistened with the remnants of last night’s downpour. From the highest spires of the palace, the city stretched before Calvus in all its silent unrest. Beneath the marble facades and gilded rooftops, the empire trembled, its heart beating just a little too fast, its people holding their breath. Rumors traveled faster than the wind, and in every market and every tavern, the question was the same.

Who would take the throne?

Aurelian IX still sat upon it, but only Calvus and the gods knew the truth.

He descended into the inner chambers of the palace, his steps measured, his mind a battlefield. Cassius’ words had not left him. The vial of blackened poison, the unnatural stillness of Aurelian’s corpse, the slow, insidious change in his voice—each piece of the puzzle fit too perfectly, and yet the picture it formed was something he did not want to see.

He entered the Emperor’s chamber with a calm he did not feel. The air was colder than it should have been, as though the very walls recoiled from the presence that lingered here. Aurelian sat unmoving, his once-golden skin now ashen, his lips dry and cracked, yet his laurels gleamed as if untouched by time. The shadows around the throne seemed deeper, their edges blurred, shifting when he wasn’t looking directly at them.

“You spoke with Cassius.” The Emperor’s voice scraped against his mind.

Calvus bowed his head. “He brought me new information.”

“And does he doubt?”

The question coiled around him, tight, expectant. He had learned, in the weeks since Aurelian’s death, how to temper his answers. He could not lie—not to whatever sat before him—but he had learned the art of omission, of half-truths wrapped in duty.

“He is loyal, as he has always been,” Calvus said carefully. “But he is wary. He does not yet understand.”

Aurelian—or what remained of him—seemed to consider this. Calvus did not know whether he actually thought as a man did, or if it was something else, some mimicry of human contemplation. When the voice returned, it was lower, quieter.

“You must bring him to me.”

A cold weight settled in Calvus’ stomach. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Cassius would not leave this chamber alive if he obeyed that order. He had seen the hunger growing in Aurelian’s words, the slow unraveling of his once-sharp mind. Something ancient curled at the edges of his voice now, something that was not Aurelian at all.

Calvus bowed. “As you wish, my Emperor.”

He left before the silence could press in any further, his mind racing.

The corridors of the palace were never truly empty. Servants moved like ghosts along the marble floors, their eyes carefully averted. Nobles whispered behind their fans, their silks whispering against stone. The palace had always been a place of careful masks and sharpened tongues, but now, there was something else woven into the fabric of its halls. A quiet dread. An unspoken fear.

He found Cassius in the barracks, sharpening his blade. The older man looked up as he approached, his expression unreadable.

“Walk with me,” Calvus said.

Cassius nodded once, setting aside his sword. They moved through the lesser halls, where the walls were bare and the torches burned lower. It was safer here, where the echoes did not carry far.

“I won’t bring you to him,” Calvus said quietly.

Cassius did not stop walking. “I didn’t think you would.”

Calvus exhaled slowly. “He is unraveling. Or… perhaps something else is unraveling him.”

Cassius nodded. “Whatever sits that throne is no longer the man we swore our oaths to.”

Calvus had known this, but hearing it spoken aloud was different. It made the doubt real. Made the betrayal real. “Then what do we do?”

Cassius was silent for a long time. Then, he said, “We find out what he has become. And if it must be undone, we end it.”

It was treason. It was the only answer.

Calvus closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering the weight of the decision upon his shoulders. When he opened them, his resolve was set.

[hybriddhthepoet]

A Collection of Riddles

By HybridDH

What force unseen, yet oft so bold,

Can make the meek both warm and cold?

A tether strong, yet soft as air,

It binds the heart, beyond compare.

A fleeting guest, a breath, a song,

A gift bestowed, yet not for long.

It journeys forward, ne’er behind,

And in its hands, all things confined.

A golden eye that rules the day,

And chases fleeting dark away.

Though ne’er it speaks, all growth it feeds,

The ancient clock to mark man’s deeds.

What weeps above and soaks the earth,

And grants to seeds their verdant birth?

Its voice is soft, yet doth resound,

A somber tune o’er stony ground.

A flick’ring beast that doth consume,

And turns the night to amber bloom.

Both friend and foe, it warms, it burns,

A master feared, yet oft it serves.

A quiet land where dreams may rest,

Where nature hums its song the best.

With colours rich and perfume sweet,

It hides its treasures ‘neath our feet.

What cannot touch, yet all may see,

A radiant bond twixt you and me?

Though shadow flees its gentle gaze,

Its glow shall mark the end of days.

A cloak unseen that wraps the whole,

A velvet shroud that swallows soul.

It whispers truths both grave and vast,

And holds all secrets of the past.

What gift sustains, though oft ignored,

And gilds the table with its hoard?

Its worth is felt when worn and frail,

Its bounty clear when sorrows pale.

A river deep, a ceaseless flow,

A burden borne none wish to show.

It colours hearts with shades of grey,

Yet teaches much along its way.

What am I?

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Emperor’s Rest

Chapter 3

The night stretched long over the capital, the sky suffocating in its darkness, the stars smothered by clouds. A storm loomed beyond the city walls, thunder rolling like the growl of some ancient beast. Within the palace, the air was thick with the scent of decay, the faint perfume of dried myrrh unable to mask the truth of the rotting corpse that sat upon the golden throne. Calvus stood before it, staring at what remained of his Emperor, his mind weighed by the conversation in the temple. The High Priestess had planted a seed of doubt within him, one that refused to wither.

“You hesitate.”

The Emperor’s voice slithered through his thoughts. It was as sharp as it had been in life, yet something clung to it now—something deeper, something insidious. It no longer spoke as a man did. It did not waver, did not breathe between words. It was simply there, pressing against Calvus’ mind as though it had always been waiting for him to listen.

“She is an enemy to us,” the voice continued. “You know what must be done.”

Calvus did not answer. His hands clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He had carried out a hundred executions in Aurelian’s name before. Traitors, spies, conspirators—he had bled them all in service of the empire. But this order was different. Lyria Cassian had not plotted against the throne. She had spoken the truth. And yet, truth had become dangerous in a court built upon silence.

“My Emperor,” Calvus said carefully, “to silence the High Priestess is to risk the wrath of the Solar Divine. The people listen to her voice as they once listened to yours.”

Aurelian’s form did not move, but the air grew heavier, the torches in the chamber dimming as if the darkness itself had drawn closer. “They will listen to you,” the voice insisted. “You are my voice now.”

Calvus felt the weight of the words settle deep within him. He had spent his life serving this throne, ensuring that Aurelian’s will was carried out without question. But was this truly still Aurelian? Was the thing that spoke through rotting lips still the man who had once ruled an empire with clarity and strength? Or was something else looking through his hollowed eyes?

The thought curdled in his mind, unwanted yet undeniable.

He bowed low, as he always had, but when he spoke, his voice was not the one of blind obedience. “As you command, my Emperor,” he murmured, though the words felt heavier than they ever had before.

He turned and left the chamber, the feeling of unseen eyes burrowing into his back as he walked away.

The corridors were empty, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows against the marble. The storm outside had reached the city now, rain beginning to drum against the palace walls, a slow, rhythmic sound that only added to the weight pressing upon him. His footsteps echoed, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the halls. He moved with purpose, but in his heart, he knew he was no longer certain of the path ahead.

The palace was silent at this hour, its noble occupants long since retired, their dreams likely filled with schemes and ambition. But there was one who still wandered the halls, a shadow moving through the dark.

Cassius Severian, Captain of the Imperial Guard, was waiting for him.

The man was a relic of the old wars, his face weathered, his body still carrying the strength of a soldier who had seen a hundred battles and survived them all. His cloak was heavy with rain, his breastplate gleaming beneath the dim torchlight. He looked at Calvus with eyes that saw too much, that had always seen too much.

“You’re troubled,” Cassius said, his voice low. “It is written across your face.”

Calvus hesitated. There had been a time when he had spoken freely with Cassius, when they had fought side by side in the Emperor’s name. But the court had changed them both. Trust had become a fragile thing, easily broken.

“A shadow lingers over the palace,” Calvus said at last. “The longer the throne remains empty, the more dangerous it becomes.”

Cassius studied him for a long moment. “And yet you do not name the true threat.”

Calvus met his gaze. “Would you believe me if I did?”

The captain did not answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his cloak and withdrew something small, wrapped in cloth. He unfolded it carefully, revealing a glass vial no larger than a man’s finger. The liquid inside was thick, dark as ink.

“The poison that killed the Emperor,” Cassius said. “Or so we thought.”

Calvus stiffened. “You found the source?”

Cassius shook his head. “No. That’s the problem. This isn’t any poison we’ve seen before. The apothecaries say it is not alchemical, nor herbal. It does not match anything in their knowledge.” He paused, his expression grim. “And yet, his body remains.”

A cold realization settled over Calvus. If the poison had been meant to kill, then why had Aurelian not truly died? Why did his soul linger, bound to the throne that should have released him? The High Priestess had spoken of unnatural forces, of something greater than mortal hands at work. He had dismissed it as superstition. But now, as he stared at the vial in Cassius’ hand, he could no longer afford to ignore the truth.

Something unnatural had taken root in the heart of the empire.

Cassius closed the vial, his expression unreadable. “You and I both know that power does not simply fade. And yet, it is changing. Corrupting. Whatever sits upon that throne—it is not the same man we once served.”

Calvus felt his pulse quicken. He had spent every moment since Aurelian’s death convincing himself that his Emperor still lingered, that he was still carrying out his will. But hearing it spoken aloud, voiced by another, made it real in a way that he had been unwilling to accept.

If Aurelian was no longer Aurelian, then what remained?

Cassius fixed him with a steady gaze. “Tell me, Calvus. Do you still serve the Emperor? Or do you serve something else?”

The words lingered between them, unspoken yet heavy with meaning.

Calvus did not answer.

Outside, the storm raged on, drowning the city in its fury. And within the palace, the whispers of something ancient curled through the halls, unseen, unfathomable, waiting for the moment it no longer needed to whisper.

[hybriddhthepoet]

Every Mistake

By HybridDH

In the journey of life, mistakes we make,

Lessons learned, give us strength to partake.

They shape our path, guide us through the unknown,

Every misstep, a seed, from which growth is sown.

With each stumble, we gain wisdom and insight,

Every error, a chance to make things right.

Mistakes, they teach us resilience and grace,

A reminder that we're human, in this vast space.

They remind us to forgive, both others and ourselves,

To embrace imperfections, as life's intricate delve.

For in mistakes, we find our truest reflection,

And in redemption, we find hope's resurrection.

Every wrong turn, a chance to find a new way,

To rise from the ashes, and seize a brighter day.

So fear not the missteps, the blunders we face,

For they're but stepping stones in life's intricate embrace.

Embrace every mistake, as a gift to be treasured,

For they mold us, shape us, and help us measure,

The depth of our character, the strength of our will,

Every mistake, a path to fulfill and instill.

So let us not shy away from the errors we've made,

But embrace them with gratitude, for the growth they've conveyed.

For mistakes, they build resilience and strength,

And lead us towards a life of purpose, at lengthy

[hybriddhthepoet]

The Emperor’s Rest

Chapter 2

The streets of Kael’Zir were quiet beneath the weight of the Emperor’s death. Even those who had never seen him, who had only known his presence through proclamations and golden coin, felt the void that stretched across the empire. Taverns hummed with whispers, merchant stalls traded more than just spices and silks—they exchanged theories, fears, and dark mutterings of what came next. The empire had no heir. The throne, though occupied by a decaying corpse, was empty. And an empty throne was an invitation to vultures.

Lord Regent Calvus Varro moved through the corridors of the palace, his footfalls barely more than a whisper against the polished stone. The walls bore the stories of past Emperors, frescoes of Sun Kings in their prime, each one gazing down with solemn judgment. Aurelian’s own visage had been immortalized in gold leaf, his painted eyes following Calvus with an unrelenting presence. Yet the man himself remained behind in the chamber, decaying, speaking words that were no longer entirely his own.

The Council had been restless. Even before the Emperor’s body had cooled, they had begun their dance, circling for power, pressing for succession, alliances shifting like sand in a storm. Some backed the old noble bloodlines, the remnants of dynasties long absorbed into Aurelian’s rule. Others whispered of the distant cousins of the imperial line, those with even a drop of divine blood. And then there were those who sought to break the cycle entirely—those who saw opportunity in the death of an Emperor.

Calvus had listened. He had spoken when needed, measured his words carefully. He had assured them that the empire would not fall into chaos, that stability was still within reach. They did not yet know that Aurelian still whispered from his throne, that his voice echoed in the chambers of a dead man.

At first, he had told himself it was his grief playing tricks on him. The voice had been clear, firm, as if Aurelian sat in council beside him, unshaken by the poison that had stilled his heart. But the more Calvus listened, the more he realized that the voice was changing. The orders were still those of an Emperor, still rational, still filled with the cunning and intelligence that had once ruled the empire. Yet there was something beneath them, something creeping into his speech, something that did not belong.

He did not sleep that night.

The next morning, a summons arrived from the Grand Temple of the Solar Divine. The High Priestess, Lyria Cassian, had requested an audience. It was not a request he could refuse. The temple held the people’s faith, and faith, more than gold or steel, could shatter an empire.

Calvus made his way through the temple’s great doors, past the towering statues of the celestial pantheon. The air smelled of incense, of burning sage and old parchment, of offerings left at the feet of forgotten gods. High Priestess Lyria stood at the altar, clad in the crimson and gold robes of her station, her silvered hair woven with threads of sunlight. Her expression was unreadable as she turned to greet him.

“The empire mourns, Lord Regent.” Her voice was soft, yet it carried through the cavernous space. “And yet, something stirs beneath it.”

Calvus inclined his head. “Faith will guide us through these dark times.”

“Faith is not blind.” She studied him, her golden eyes searching. “Something lingers within the palace.”

A chill ran through him. He had never spoken of the Emperor’s voice to anyone. “What do you mean?”

“The Sun Emperor’s soul should have passed into the embrace of the divine, yet the flames in the sacred braziers flicker unnaturally. The omens are clouded. And I have dreamed of shadows in the halls of the Auric Palace.”

Calvus was silent. Lyria had been the Emperor’s spiritual guide, his connection to the gods that the empire worshipped. She had known Aurelian since he was a boy, had whispered blessings over his crown. If anyone would sense that something was wrong, it would be her.

“You have always been a man of reason, Calvus.” Her gaze did not waver. “Tell me—does your Emperor truly rest?”

He wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell her that she was chasing phantoms. But the weight of the voice in his mind, the cold press of unnatural knowledge slipping through Aurelian’s words, made the lie heavy on his tongue.

“He lingers,” he admitted at last.

Lyria closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. “Then the empire is in more danger than we feared.”

Calvus felt his pulse quicken. “Explain.”

“The gods do not allow the dead to remain. If the Emperor still speaks, then something holds him here.” She turned to face the altar, her fingers tracing the engravings upon the sacred relics. “Did he leave behind unfinished deeds? A betrayal unresolved?”

“He was murdered.”

The words tasted like iron.

Lyria’s fingers stilled. “Then justice must be served.”

Calvus nodded. “I am hunting the poisoner. But I have found nothing—no trails, no whispers, no missteps. It is as if the assassin vanished the moment the chalice touched his lips.”

The High Priestess opened her eyes, and there was something in them—something ancient, something knowing. “Perhaps you are searching for a man,” she said. “But some poisons do not come from mortal hands.”

The weight of her words settled deep within him. The court was filled with enemies, with noble houses vying for power, with generals watching from the sidelines, waiting to strike. But what if this was something else? Something deeper, older, more insidious than ambition?

He left the temple with more questions than answers, the scent of incense still clinging to his cloak. Night had fallen by the time he returned to the palace. The halls stretched long and empty before him, torchlight flickering against the marble. The shadows felt thicker than before, clinging to the edges of the corridors, pooling at the base of the golden throne.

He stood before it, before the withering figure of the man he had served his entire life. Aurelian IX did not move, did not breathe, yet the presence remained. Calvus could feel it pressing against his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke.

“You saw her.” The voice rasped through the chamber.

Calvus swallowed. “She knows something is wrong.”

Aurelian’s head did not tilt, his skeletal frame did not shift, but the air grew heavy with his presence. “Then she is a threat.”

Calvus hesitated. The Emperor’s words had always been decisive, but there was something else there now. Something colder. “She is a faithful servant of the empire.”

“She must be silenced.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The Emperor had never spoken so bluntly, had never given an order like this before. Something deeper than unease stirred within Calvus.

He had spent his life serving Aurelian IX. Had devoted everything to his rule, his vision. But the thing upon the throne was not the man he had known.

Something else was speaking now.

[hybriddhthepoet]

Born to Be Royal

By HybridDH

Born to be royal, a soul set to gleam,

A child of wonder, a living dream.

Cloaked in moon’s silver, stars’ gentle embrace,

A lineage of greatness, a timeless grace.

In your veins flows a regal stream,

The blood of monarchs, their steadfast dream.

A fire within, both fierce and true,

A legacy waiting, alive in you.

Born to be royal, with a crown untamed,

Bearer of brilliance, destiny named.

The world lies open, its canvas vast,

Awaken your magic, let shadows be cast.

With every stride, leave trails of light,

A path of beauty in the endless night.

For kingdoms whisper, their voices call,

To a sovereign destined to rise above all.

Rule with compassion, wisdom, and might,

A beacon of hope in the darkened fight.

In your essence dwells a radiant glow,

A symphony of hues the world must know.

Born to be royal, a masterpiece rare,

A destiny forged in celestial care.

Take your throne, where dreams ignite,

And let your reign bring endless light.