Prologue: The Prophecy

When mountains crack, weep blackened flame

Old foe awakes to fight anew

When clawless beasts cry out, devoured by darkness

From wildest heart a Champion shall rise

With blood of beast and burden black

With duty bound in bone and blackened skin

An otherworldly soul he shall hunt and find

The Chosen’s heart shall bear the balm

A hand of hope, of wounds undone

A field of blood, a duel of fangs

Souls united, soothe the flames

Beast and crown, shall join as one

With chiming bells, seal the bond

Demon’s heart be sated, weeping flames dry out.

*

The Mystic stares as the words manifest on the sacred parchment on the altar of their Holy Sanctum. A Prophecy! A Prophecy to guide them in their hour of need. Thank the Ancients. Carefully, reverently, he picks it up with trembling fingers, murmuring prayers of gratitude.

He runs up the stairs as quickly as his sandaled feet and flowing robe allow. Elation and pride fill his chest as he reaches the ground floor and pushes the heavy doors open. His Superior must see this at once. So does the King.

A new Prophecy!