The Green Worn by Storms

Vanin carries the color of what survives.
Not the forest that calms — the one that tests.

Rooted. Watchful. Still.

For the man who doesn’t ask the forest to go easy. Ease leaves no roots. What holds must first withstand.

It’s soil. It’s bark. It’s blood.
Made by bare hands that have touched all three.

You will wear Vanin when peace is earned,
and silence is the loudest thing in the room.

यः आत्मनं विजित्य तिष्ठति सः विजयी
He who conquers himself stands victorious.