Final Jeopardy
Wind remembers him before people do.
It bends first, lowers its voice,
waits for his breath to decide direction.
Even silence seems trained around him.
He was born second to nothing,
yet crowned by absence.
A hollow place learned to shine
because he stood inside it long enough.
Words rarely survive his mouth.
They line up, disciplined,
then retreat.
Only the air is permitted confession.
Something ancient chose him
without explanation or mercy.
It nested where fear should live
and fed on restraint.
He does not reach for the summit.
The summit adjusts its posture.
Snow listens. Towers straighten.
The sky tightens its grip.
Loyalty is his quiet rebellion.
While others burn to be seen,
he sharpens patience into a blade
that never announces itself.
If destiny keeps records,
his name is written in pressure,
not ink.
And if greatness arrives like a storm,
he will already be standing
where it intended to land.
Yuno