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B efore the gods cursed the world and unleashed the nightmares coming from the dark chasm, there was a child born blessed with the infinite eyes of Time.

A girl that was ripped from the arms of her mother and sent to a temple to serve as an oracle.

Her name was forgotten, but her prophecies would shape the future of the Kingdom of Draydon.

It was her eyes that foretold the coming of the dark and the creatures of the mist. It was her eyes that saw the last sacrifice of the Mages.

So when she spoke, her words were feared and held as truth.

After a great ball of fire was seen flying across a starless night, the nameless oracle spoke once more.

She thrashed and wailed as her eyes saw a warning.

A woman sat on a throne made of the purest of ash and shadows atop a hill of bones.

With hair as black as night and eyes as green as moss, she possessed power that could destroy the kingdom.

But she was not alone. There stood another, shrouded in darkness, her equal.

One born to privilege, a warrior with magic like hers.

A son, born under the twin stars, on the fifth day of the rising sun.

Together they will forge a new coming. For their lives have been fated by the gods.

As one last laugh. As punishment for the Deceiver.

The nameless oracle was never wrong. Her eyes saw the clarity that the gods bestowed, but sometimes her words were misunderstood. For visions are just small glimpses of what could be. Probability is ever changing by decisions, and the balance of the world is held by a choice.