I am often savored but come at a cost. Many aspire to claim me, often in battle or contest. When achieved at great costs, or for the wrong ends, i may still be celebrated, but be hollow nonetheless.

Beyond the day, before the dark, I leave a silent, fading mark. A sacred pause, a spectral hue, Where ancient tales might still ring true. They say in me, the unseen walk, And whispers from the past can talk. What am I?

I gleamed where senators once tread, A silent witness to the dead. In Rome’s great heart, I played my part, a weapon swift that pierced the heart. By hands once sworn to loyal trust, I brought down Caesar to the dust. What am I?

This title from nearly four decades past, was meant to be a company's last. Four warriors of light sent out by their king, to defeat chaos and peace to the world bring.

I sound like I belong on an ear of corn I look like I belong in early US history But I am a word that belongs in the army