“Starlit eyes shall keep the turn,
— The Second Seer reading aloud one of the Xeran Prophecies, circa 397 4E
Though gods above doth bearer spurn.
Green scales will lie beneath their feet,
From fortune’s trick that shirked defeat.
Earthen foot and iron hand,
Revered for deeds across the land,
To Spire’s Eight they do not bow,
The eye of fate upon their brow.”
Steepled fingers rested against a mouth as the eyes above flared, casting their gaze over innumerable timelines and realities.
The face was set with a grimace.
“So the combatants are revealed.”
He stood swiftly to his feet, pacing back and forth, the scrape of sandals against the sand on the floor echoing in the room.
“The place.”
The eyes closed once more as He whispered, a long, slow blink.
“The time.”
They opened again, golden light spilling outwards from the sockets.
“All that remains is the outcome.”
