There has been a tradition since the dawn of my bloodline. A tradition of blood sun dried red, water, mountain, rain, earth, ride, wind, and soul. Since I can remember, the world has shifted and changed, grew and demolished, burrowed and hid, and yet, amongst all the sorrow and nostalgia, my parents, and the spirits that surround them, have burned in me, forever lasting, a trait pure and singular.
Loyalty has been above all else. And I do not mean the loyalty of a sports team, of a place, of a city-state-nation, but that of soul, that of love, that of an everlasting timeless link of fortitude and transcendent universal understanding of how the world turns and why it does so. Loyalty with no name, not letters, no physical manifestation.
This loyalty begins with family. It begins with your creator, and those to which they have created, since the dawning of memory. It begins with the moment in which you are conceived and born and grow, and beyond that to when the process occurs to another soul, one of you but separate from you. These are the sisters and brothers that share your genetic truth.
But one grows. I grew. My father and mother, and those before their time, taught me the blade that is not made of steel, but made of thought, to which one must calls upon when it is needed, and this blade is reserved for family. Family not only of blood, but must be solidified through heart, mind, spirit. This is a loyalty unbreakable, unchainable, one that cannot be colonized or conquered. One that is betrayed and even then, when such loyalty is not mirrored by another, it is ever present, for one has been taught, birthed even, through this singular idea.
One then travels through the world, unscathed by such turmoil, treachery,or indifference, for even through pain of the nothingness of others, loyalty remains unbroken and unshaken.
But I have met those, born to those, built into those, who understand this code. The code of loyalty above all else. The loyalty where one calls upon the knife immaterial, the knife that cannot be found, the knife that is singular. The knife when called upon that asks no question.
A weakness, surely, but one that can never be removed. One learns to live and die and be reborn, against all, to maintain this loyalty, to be able to call upon the knife self constructed, to whatever end. Regardless of of the reason to which it, to which I, as a person, is called upon.
Even when no one mirrors it and nothing looks back, even if futile, even when years, decades even, have passed where the mirror reflects nothing, you are holding the blade ready to defend, to attack, even succumb to a darkness unknown.
This is law.
Loyalty above all else.