The room still trembles with echoes, though the battle is long past. As I sit here by the flickering hearth, the shadows dancing their ancient ritual across the walls. The air is thick, heavy with questions that have yet to be asked, let alone answered.

I feel it.

The shifting, the unraveling of old threads, the knitting of new ones. The veil between worlds has thinned, torn asunder by forces neither wholly understood nor fully contained. They think it was merely a fight—a skirmish in the grander scheme—but I know better.

A sip of my tea, the brew bitter with roots from forgotten places. The warmth does little to chase away the chill in my bones, a chill not born of weather but of foresight.

I have seen this before.

Not in dreams, no. Dreams are fleeting, scattered by the morning light. This is different—deeper. An awakening of something ancient, long-buried. My grandmother once spoke of such a time, her voice a whisper against the howling wind. A convergence, she called it. A reckoning.

Rising, my joints protesting, a symphony of age and wisdom. The crystal ball rests on the velvet-draped table, its surface milky and opaque. Not even it dares to reveal the full extent of what’s to come. Cowardly thing.

The cards, then.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

They never lie. They twist and turn, beguile and confuse, but never lie.

The shuffle is a ritual unto itself, each card sliding against the other with a whisper of silk. My fingers, gnarled and knotted, feel each line, each crease, as if the very texture holds secrets untold.

The first card flips itself.

The Tower. Of course. Destruction, upheaval, but also—rebirth. A necessary pain, like lancing a wound. The second card is no surprise, either. The Moon. Shadows and secrets, the hidden paths we tread when no one watches. But it is the third card that halts my breath.

The Lovers.

An anomaly. Not mere romance or passion, but a choice—a bond forged in the fires of adversity. And yet... it speaks of more. A partnership destined, yet fraught with trials and sacrifices.

Placing the cards back, the answers they provide are too much and too little all at once. The fire crackles, a soft reminder of the world’s persistent march forward, even as the metaphysical quakes ripple through its foundations.

I close my eyes, the firelight painting my lids with hues of orange and red. Recalling now their faces flash thorugh my mind: Zoe, her light barely contained by her mortal shell; and dear Lucien, whose path I fear may twist into darkness if not carefully tended. Are these the lovers the cards fortell?

They will come to me soon.

With their questions, their fears. And I will do as I always have—guide them through the storm, even as it threatens to consume us all.

For now, I wait. In the quiet, in the dark. The echoes of the arcane still reverberating, the aftershocks of the battle not yet done shaking the very fabric of our reality.

I will continue to put on the face of the fool, keeping them oblivious to the true dept of what is at stake.

Yes, I wait.

The storm has only just begun.