Chapter Text
From the days of old, prophecies were used to make up hopes for the fast-coming future. Many prophecies never came true. Many did. Sometimes it depended on how intuitive a mind could be. Some were even lucky guesses. But others were looked upon by high beings. Beings who found good fortune in granting such miniscule dreams.
Ancient civilizations created gods who were designed to grant their soothsaying. Those people used symbols to show off their own creativity. Some used the sun. Others took hope in the moon. The stars were shared among all. Yet throughout all of these lands and differences, one thing stayed the same: the belief that they held the truth.
Many truths are lies in hiding. Few are lies in the open. But there is a percentage of truths that have been upheld with proof. A small amount in all of history, where one person’s hopes and rumors became the factuality we know today. One rumor was that of the moon and the storm.
It’s written on walls and papyri, kept away from the viewers in the footnotes of a deteriorated textbook in an abandoned library. A prophecy of antiquated time. A simple message carved into forgotten codes, soon forged into nearby languages through the passage of time.
“In the darkest of nights, the Moon will pierce the storm’s eye.”
A vague message, truly. Historians have argued and contemplated such words for decades, yet no answer ever came from their worrying. Was this message proving the end of the world? Was the moon a sentient being? When was the darkest night going to happen, and had it already occurred?
With so many questions and so few answers, the message fell to the back of history. You can’t solve a mystery that doesn’t want to be solved.
And now, centuries since the belief was carved into those pillars of sandstone, the prophecy has finally begun unraveling its thread of truth.
The Moon has woken up.