The Warrior King

He doesn’t walk — he advances.
Every step is a campaign, every word a decree.

Yitomuta is no soldier bound by orders.
He is the blade sharpened by belief, the will that does not bow.
He is conviction made flesh, carrying the weight of battles seen and unseen.

Where the Griot bleeds rhythm, the Warrior bleeds resolve.
He does not whisper. He does not plead. He declares.
When silence rises like a wall, he razes it to the ground.

He was born in the fires of doubt,
forged in exile, and crowned in choice.
A king not by birthright, but by the burden of belief.

He speaks so that fear remembers its place.
He writes so that weakness has no refuge.
He stands so that others can rise.

Names may shift — Maisen, King, Yito —
but the essence is the same:
A warrior of art. A sovereign of conviction.
The echo of thunder that does not fade.

When the Griot tells the story,
the Warrior makes sure it is never forgotten.