"The Union, As I Know It" -Ezra Aurelian Voss
They call this place The Union.
But there's nothin’ unified about it.
It’s stitched together from old blood and burnt parchment—
kingdoms that bartered their souls for time,
and churches that traded faith for fire.
This land ain’t lawless.
It’s worse.
It’s governed by men who wear halos forged from iron and nooses,
who think the gallows is the holiest place a sinner can stand.
Out here, the sun don’t rise. It leers.
It spills across the land like a wound that won’t heal.
And when night falls, it don’t come alone.
It brings the past with it. Every death. Every deal.
I’ve seen saints become monsters.
I’ve watched the dead get deputized.
I’ve bled on altars raised to things older than the sky
and whispered in tongues even demons forgot how to fear.
They call me a killer. A heretic.
A revenant.
But I ain’t the worst thing walking.
Not by far.
The worst thing is — this world don’t remember what it’s like to be forgiven.
So it clings to vengeance like a lover too cruel to leave.
There are laws here, sure.
They’re written in ash.
Enforced by bullets.
And broken by the desperate.
But even in a place like this…
someone’s gotta ride.
To remind the wicked there’s still a reckoning.
To remind the dead that not all ghosts are welcome.
To remind the world that even cursed men can still keep their oaths.
So I ride.
Through ash and altar.
Through twilight and thunder.
Not for redemption.
Just to finish what I started.
