CHAPTER TWO : The Fortune Teller – The Mask of Many Faces
Like mist that bends where moonlight weaves, He drifted in on silent leaves. Cloaked in a mask, in symbols vast, His face a mirror—changing fast. The Fortune Teller, none had known, Spoke not in voice, but touch alone. He pressed his hand on faces cold, And through the cracks, their tremors told. A ripple deep began to spread, The frozen whispered back the dead. And though his lips no words released, The unseen air began to feast: They wait beyond this brittle skin, Four shall rise and breathe again— The Beast, the Rebel, Meme, and King, To wake the wall, to make it sing. The fracture widened, life grew near, The silence cracked, the path was clear. And in the dark, beyond the seam, The wild began to stir and dream.