Deep within the land of perpetual winter, the three fates convened for the first time in one thousand years. Before them, the great damnation, the Thoreskyn Prophecy, carved deep into the pitch magmatic stone under the godmount, stood solemn. The various lines of the impossibly ancient artifact emitted the threads of the apocalypse. Even the gods knew not of the origins of the apocalyptic map, yet all feared it. The three fates, fearing the gods would destroy the world’s only chance at salvation, had each sacrificed greatly to conceal the Thoreskyn Prophecy in a shroud of pure blackness. And now, only the three sisters, who had sworn dark and forbidden oaths to beings beyond the veil of existence, knew of the apocalyptic landscape etched in the mountain’s bones.

Atop the Thoreskyn Prophecy, a large moon rose from The Garden of Infinite Pleasures, encompassing the lands in an eternal night. The eyes of every single figure in the four hundred foot long carving were transfixed on the massive celestial body. Every single figure almost seemed to lust after the moon. Every figure was a victim, consumed by the conflagration of a massive wyrm whose four hundred and one foot wide mouth enclosed the bottom border of the impossibly ornate carving. The top border of the Thoreskyn Prophecy held the aforementioned prophecy. This is, at least, what the Thoreskyn Prophecy normally looked like, for a large, jagged, vertical crack split the world’s oldest source of knowledge in half.

Jinstori, the oldest and wisest fate who had sacrificed her eyes to the deep ones, shattered the silence with a revelation. “The unrelenting mantra has been spoken. We can no longer ignore the signs. It That Slumbers, shall come.”

Pyrstin, the middle sister of the three fates, who specialized in magic and prophecy, clasped her two stumps together, for she had sacrificed her hands to the deep ones to conceal the prophecy, repeating the opening lines of the prophecy. “It That Slumbers Stirs when its Harbinger speaks the unrelenting mantra, and upon / shattering his faith he restores anew in defiance of the Fallon One.” (note: Pyrstin did always find the “o” in the word “Fallen” instead of an “e” odd, but knew better than to go rewriting prophecies, for Jinstori had often told her it was a bad idea.)

Rebecca, the third sister, walked in late holding a bag of groceries and a talkstone to her ear. The youngest sister had made the greatest sacrifice of all: her sense of urgency.

“Look, Dave, I gotta go-”

The caller on the other end of the line was muffled, but was clearly peeved.

“I really don’t care, just fucking fix it- bah buh biuh buh buh. I’m the boss here. Okay? I don’t care if your daughter has a piano recital-”

The two on-time sisters looked at one another patiently, for both knew the toll the third’s sacrifice had taken upon her greatly outweighed their own.

“Dave. I’m one of the three legendary fates. I’m looking at the list of minor musical prophecies right now, and it is literally written in blood that your daughter doesn’t “win” her piano recital. You wanna know why? Because no one wins a piano recital. Goodbye Dave.” Rebecca acknowledged her two sisters.

“Oh my gosh it’s been: Too. Long. Sorry about that, the stock market waits for no one. So, what have you two been up to lately?” Rebecca asked.

“The prophecy, sister.” Jinstori cleared her throat, “The Thoreskyn Prophecy. The unrelenting-”

Rebecca’s talkstone rang.

“One second, I need to answer this.” Rebecca held her finger up, “Hello! Oh my goodness, is it really you? Let’s catch up on the past two hundred years right now. I am going to be so angry if you don’t go into excruciating detail.”

And thus this talkstone-answering process repeated several times until (after three whole days), the fates finally began to address the matter of the prophecy. TIme would not be on their side.

The Thoreskyn Prophecy

It That Slumbers Stirs when its Harbinger speaks the unrelenting mantra, and upon

shattering his faith he restores anew in defiance of the Fallon One.

This line is shorter.

Soon will fall the ancient world order

of gods and men and books and magic

and the unknowable art shall re-emerge in the face of circumstances, dire (no rhyme, tragic)

Reality will crack

there will be no going back

and this final line unrelated to the rhyme scheme reveals the final, but difficult-to-understand

twist of the prophecy, namely that it is self-aware and is really thankful to have three

amazing sisters looking after it. I mean, really, you guys are doing a great job keeping

me safe from utter oblivion at the hands of the gods. Anyways, the other final twist is that

the lines between lives will fade, as the world forgets what it is. And the only solution

to this problem is something about being “slightly-late.” Also fire will cover the land and

all of that typical apocalyptic stuff. Anyways have fun!

The final line curved over slightly, and about ten feet of the right of the ancient carving of the end days. Pyrstin still had no idea what the final line meant, despite having spent most of eternity thinking about it.