There it is — low brass and drums hitting together, square and hard.

That clipped figure underneath, and the rising line over it. The march is already locked.

Steady beat, blunt accents, everything dark and armored. No rush — just forward.

Now the theme opens out a little. Still brass-led, still a command, just with more room around it.

Percussion punching the corners, and those inner strings keeping it from going flat.

Small ease there — not a soft turn, just enough air while the same severe pattern holds.

It stays on that count. The force isn't climbing; it's just staying put, which is colder.

Same march again, pressed harder. Feels like reinforcement, not comfort.

Count stays firm, but the colors over it keep shifting — restless skin on a hard step.

Late stretch settles. Less agitation, theme standing clearer, almost satisfied with itself.

Phrase drops back. They're starting to take the weight off.

Pattern breaks — the grip lets go.

And silence. Long enough to feel left standing in the shape of what just passed.