Ignition Eben | Pagan

So let the spark catch in the grove, on the moss-grown altar, under the horned moon.

The remembers: fire is older than temples, older than the word “sin.”

An incantation for the threshold

comes not from the sun but from friction between what was buried and what refused to die.

Strike the flint against the stone — black as the old god’s tongue, dense with centuries of unspoken names.

Not a prayer — a kindling. If you meant something else (e.g., a misspelled band name, a local folk term, or an experimental music cue), please clarify, and I’ll adjust the piece accordingly.