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The prophecy from the library.
Daughter of flame and mother of magic,
The First Witch stood proud amidst creation,
A sea of souls ablaze
Seven old gods and nine foolish mages
Conspired to slay her immortal will.
Still her song abides
It sings of Odam, the sly summer maid,
Whose blade cuts weakness from spirit and flesh
The night's own surgeon
Witch of the water and kindler of souls,
Avitu walks with gift, song and smile,
The mother of monsters.
Granting the eldest home in her army
Partashah forges all into one.
Stone spellbinder and city of sinners,
All who sing the hymn fail to wake it.
A chorus of dust
When traitor's heir joins with House of halos,
The angel of the edge marks chosen line
Her coven endures
When the stars grow cold and three are one,
The ember hymn meets chosen slayer
So ends her refrain
While her song is stilled, the world finds order,
Free from her unbridled creation.
Beginnings. Must. End.