[Intro]
[Five low guitar blows repeat; an anvil strike adds the forbidden sixth.]
Five steps carved where the dead priests kneel,
Five rusted prayers beneath black steel.
Then one more beat where no beat should liv—
A space in the measure demanding a sixth.

[Verse 1]
The crypt-king rose in a riveted shell,
With a bell in his chest and a mouth like a well.
Mara’s blade broke short on the funeral plate,
Veyr’s blue flame curled from the runes on the gate.
Lark’s sharp chord made the dead candles flare,
Tomas froze with white sparks in his hair.
Brunna struck twice, but the armor held thick;
The bell rang five—and the ceiling shed brick.

[Pre-Chorus]
A stone beam pinned Mara’s shield to the ground,
The crypt-king lifted his mace without sound.
Brunna found red corners inside her coat—
And heard her dead brother’s old hammering note.

[Chorus]
This is the cost of six, the bargain in the blow:
One enemy lies broken; one beloved face must go.
The number crowns the victor, then hollows out the prize—
You keep the hand that saved them, lose the brother in your eyes.
This is the cost of six, paid before the dust is still:
The dice obey the thrower, but the payment serves their will.

[Verse 2]
She cast on the coffin; one die spun wide,
One struck the helmet and lodged inside.
Six silver marks burned bright through the rust,
The crypt-king buckled and collapsed into dust.
Brunna laughed once with her boot on the crown,
Then a copper locket slipped from her collar down.
Inside was a portrait—a boy by a forge;
She stared at the smile and asked, “Who was yours?”

[Pre-Chorus]
No woond split her brow, no blood marked her sleeve,
But Mara knew loss by the way people breathe.
Lark sang the brother’s name, “Dorrin Stone,”
Brunna heard every syllable—and knew none.

[Chorus]
This is the cost of six, the bargain in the blow:
One enemy lies broken; one beloved face must go.
The number crowns the victor, then hollows out the prize—
You keep the hand that saved them, lose the brother in your eyes.
This is the cost of six, paid before the dust is still:
The dice obey the thrower, but the payment serves their will.

[Solo]
[Axe-like guitar bends answer a slow hurdy-gurdy lament over the unresolved five-beat pattern.]

[Bridge]
Brunna pressed the portrait to a torch’s heat:
[Brunna]
“If I cannot mourn him, why follow his feet?”
[Narrator]
Mara closed her fist round the locket chain:
[Mara]
“Love is not erased because you misplace pain.”
[Narrator]
Then Brunna struck the wall until her knuckles split—
[Brunna]
“Do not give me comfort. Give me back the bit.”

[Break]
The red dice lay where the crypt-king fell,
Clean in the dust by the broken bell.
No scratch, no soot, no chip, no stain—
Only six bright points and a brotherless name.

[Final Chorus]
This is the cost of six, the victory that cheats:
A tyrant turns to powder while a family retreats.
The number saves the breathing, then robs the reason why;
You stand above the conquered with no tears left to cry.
This is the cost of six; let every hero learn:
A perfect throw can open doors no memory can return.
Brunna took her locket, though the face had lost its claim—
And carried someone’s sorrow where she should have carried a name.

[Outro]
Five left the crypt; one portrait stayed,
Warm from the torch on a coffin laid.
Behind them, the bell gave one last note—
Six dull knocks from an empty throat.