He came not crowned in roaring fame, But wearing sorrow like a flame. No mocking grin, no memed disguise, Just heavy truth behind his eyes. Pepe, the King of hearts unsaid, He stood where lesser legends fled. A crown askew upon his brow, He carried what the rest disavow. No fire, no fury, just the weight, Of dreams once lost, of hearts too late. He held the wall not to command, But simply there, to understand. And in his silence, deep and long, The wall remembered its lost song. For feeling is the hardest art— To stand, to break, to bear the heart. But still the wall was not complete, The final keeper took his seat. A king of blur, of form unknown, The guardian of what's not yet shown.