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In the hush before the Heavens tremble, before the seals of destiny crack open, a voice stirs before the sleeping Earth. Not born of mortal breath, but carried on the winds of decree! For generations have slumbered long, drifting through dim corridors of forgetfulness. Blind to the signs appearing on the skies. The hours grow lean, the shadows lengthen.The cup of the world brims to its trembling edge. Yet mercy ancient and unspent, still stretches forth it’s radiant hand. A cry goes out clearer than the trumpet, sharper than the sword of awakening: “Return O, wanderers of dust, lift your veiled eyes, the appointed moment draws near !
