Lament Engine by Tundrik

"Lament Engine" isn't just another collection of tracks. We dug deep for this one, pulled it from the core of Kythara’s eternal winter. It’s the sound of something colossal waking up beneath a Mourning Spire—a machine, the first Lament Engine, built to take all that human sorrow, all the grief we carry, and spin it into... something. Melodies, they say. Enough to maybe, just maybe, thaw the permafrost.

We spent months out there, burying piano strings in snow, waiting for the right sub-zero temperatures to capture that metallic shimmer, that 'frost-tuned' sound you hear cutting through everything. It’s not a trick; it’s the ice itself singing. That sound, alongside the bone flutes carved from ancient mammoth ivory, the low rumble of reindeer-hide drums, and our own throat singing, it all converges with the hum of electronics and the cold precision of mechanical rhythms. It’s the raw spirit of the tundra clashing with something built, something designed.

The album tells a story, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s about the Shepherds of Sorrow, us, with our birch bark masks, racing to teach this awakening automaton not just to process the pain, but to *feel* it, to understand compassion. It’s a desperate race against its own purpose. You hear that struggle in the music—the chaotic beauty of grief being transformed, the mechanical pulse attempting to quantify what’s unquantifiable. It’s in the moments where the engine itself seems to finally weep, where its cold processing turns into genuine emotion. That's not just a conceptual idea; it's woven into the very fabric of the sound, the way the ancient instruments merge with harsh, glacial electronics.

We're exploring the boundary, you know, between bone and metal, between what’s ritual and what’s engineered. Can sorrow, when channeled through this kind of technology, actually heal? Or does it just change its form? We don’t have all the answers. But what we found is this singular, almost haunting sound. It peaks in that final anthem, where everything comes together—the flutes, the electronics, the full weight of our collective sound. It’s a moment of unsettling clarity, both ancient and future. We put something of ourselves, of Kythara, into this. It's a heavy listen, meant to pull you into that same space where loss isn't just an end, but maybe, a raw material for something truly profound. It’s just how it had to be.

Born from Siberian winters and forgotten burial grounds, our instruments breathe with the spirits of the frozen earth. Each track channels ancient rituals through mammoth bone flutes and frost-tuned strings.