By the time they arrived, their party was three.
One zealot believing without the king's power,
There couldn't be peace, not for an hour.
A priest believed that the stone was divine,
Given by God to his chosen ally.
The gate had a spell, and they couldn't pass by
Without leaving their greatest possession beside.
Arepo knew what he must leave behind.
He hid his crown in some rocks nearby.
The priest hesitated at the gates' mystic border,
His greatest possession was an amulet of his order.
He would not remove it and risk his grand rank.
He turned back at the magical gate.
The zealot, a dagger, a gift from the king
He wouldn't cross over defenseless, you see.
So Arepo alone passed through the gate
Ready for whatever he would find in wait.
