Soul of Shattered Light
Introduction
They say the prophecy settled in the bones of the dying mages at Salem.
That the Last Diviner spoke to them in a ruptured voice.
That their scream didn’t come from throat or breath, but tore through the Veil as it broke; a final exhale hurled at a world already burning.
They say the stars went out behind the eyes of those gathered.
And for a blink - just for a moment - the sky wasn’t dark.
It was language.
A memory that hadn’t happened yet.
A shape made of hope.
A sweet lie.
A ghost of what could never be.
They say it wasn’t a mage who spoke.
They say, that something older used him as a vessel of truth.
They say in their words, the world took a final breath.
Not to be reborn.
But to survive.
"Hope is nothing but a memory wearing the face of tomorrow."
A Myth Woven in Ashes
No one can say for certain if the prophecy is real. Those who could have borne witness have no voices left; swallowed by Salem, dissolved in the ritual that broke the world, their last thoughts bled into the bones of the earth.
Still, the myth remains. Somehow, it managed to crawl out of the wreckage and spread like ash on wind. Told and retold by a hundred mouths, each retelling a little more worn, a little more warped.
A story no one owns, and everyone remembers.
Some say it speaks of hope, of a soul born from ruin, a figure who will stitch shut the wounds of the world.
Others say it’s a warning, that the one it speaks of will finish what the Cataclysm began.
A curse mistaken for salvation.
It moves between campfires and crumbling buildings, in whispered fragments and half-sung lullabies.
Through broken memories and the fraying edge of the Veil, the words of the Last Diviner persist.
A breath that never ended.
A name yet to be spoken.
A future neither alive nor dead.
And in its shadow, something waits.
The Prophecy
A hero, a vessel or a weapon?
The figure at the heart of the prophecy has no name. No face. No birthplace. No voice of their own.
And yet, they are present everywhere, woven into stories told by the living, the undead, and the powerful alike.
They drift like the shadow of a dream, or the echo of a nightmare among the ruins, wearing a different mask each time someone tells their tale.
The Last Diviner
According to fragmented mage lore, the last known Diviner was one named Domingo de Subildegui, who perished in the flames of the Basque witch trials, centuries before the Cataclysmr. Once revered as seers of the future and weavers of destiny’s threads, diviners wielded rare gifts before they vanished: visions that pierced the Veil and glimpses of possible tomorrows.
Some claim the voice that spoke through the dying ritual was Domingo’s soul, reaching out from beyond the Veil, trapped between worlds. Others whisper of a shadowed descendant of Domingo, who lived unseen, never named in any record.
Whether spirit or flesh, the Last Diviner’s echo lingers; a riddle wrapped in silence, watching from the fractures of reality.
The mages believe otherwise. To them, the prophecy must speak of one of their own: a soul attuned not to one of the Four Pillars, but to the mythical fifth: The Pillar of Aether, the lost axis that once sat at the center of all magic. If such a being could exist, they would wield magic without fracture. Without the fear of the Wyld Surges. Without consequence. They call this theoretical prodigy The Thread, and many now scour the ruins for signs of their coming.
The vampires are more certain as to whom the prophecy refers. They believe the mysterious figure is mortal. And they claim it is theirs to take. To them, the prophecy is no riddle, but a roadmap; one that leads to the restoration of Sanguinis, the source that once gave the Immortals their dominion. They believe the child - that soul of shattered light - must be turned by one of them and brought into the night. That only through their gift will the prophecy unfold as intended: not as salvation, but as a new order reborn in blood.
An Echo Unclaimed
Every faction sees what it needs in the fractured prophecy. A savior to cling to. A weapon to wield. A vessel to command.
A lie to believe in.
Yet the figure remains unseen - a shadow behind shattered glass.
A whisper without form.
A silence waiting for a voice.
Only their echo lingers.
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I like that everyone has a different idea of what the subject of the prophecy is. Either trying to avoid prophecy or to make it come true never ends well, though...
Explore Etrea | Summer Camp 2025
I totally agree, chasing prophecies is a recipe for disaster. Thanks for the comment and like Emy <3