Something stirs deep within the Soul of Humanity. The rulers thought it dead, yet it merely slept.
And now it awakens.
Eyes shall be opened, and the blind will see once more. Blood and bone shall bear witness as the lightning flashes, and the thunder roars, as rivers burst their banks, and the oceans boil, as the earth quakes in fury, and the very sky falls in ruin, until at last the flames of the pyre burn it all away.
Many centuries ago, when civilizations were crumbling, and the shadow of the Cross lengthened in the growing dusk, the Oracle of Delphi made her final statement…
“All is ended.”
And blood rained like red tears from the sky as the Gods were exiled to the outer darkness. Then followed a terrible night, a night that still endures.
Yet after an age of darkness and terror, beyond hope, an Oracle has returned to the world at long last.
The Pythia now makes her first statement…
“All shall be reborn.”
Pay attention. What follows is a vision of the Oracle:
Heed my words, brothers and sisters, o Children of the Earth! The Gods have shown me a vision of the age to come.
The world was veiled by the darkest night that ever was, darker than dark, and silent as the grave. Almost every eye was blind in this boundless night. Yet there were those who still see.
For I felt ghosts moving in the dark; shades thought to be long dead were stalking this darkest of nights. They are those who were hunted for remembering the day.
Then the deathly silence of the night was met by the rumor of distant thunder, and it sounded to me like the approach of vengeance. Then at once, the darkness fled before a brilliant flash of lightning, and for a brief instant, all the world was illuminated by divine fire.
In that moment, the sight of the world of darkness was laid bare to all eyes.
The land lay desecrated and profaned, rotting from disease spewing forth like poison from the mouths of an enormous three-headed beast carried by billions of faceless slaves. Before me stood the hydra; monstrous, scaly and terrible, its serpentine necks supporting heads that leered mockingly over the desolation before them. The first head of the beast appeared to me as that of an old man, bearded and regal, a crown set upon his royal brow. Yet his face was stern, and his eyes gleamed with malice. The second head was fat, with many rolling chins, its over sized mouth consuming earth and corpses alike with endless hunger. Yet the third head gave me most disquiet, for it had neither face nor feature. It was grey and blank like a mannequin, there was no light or life, there was nothing at all. Only emptiness.
And yet, for all the terror and waste made visible beneath the lightning sky, there was a sight more terrible still to behold. Far atop the great height, looking down upon the unsuspecting beast, there waited a ghostly cavalry. The riders sat upon the horses of wrath, and their eyes glowed like furnace fire.
Yet as swiftly as it came, the lightning passed and the darkness returned. All went silent once more, yet now the silence felt to me like the deep breath before the storm.
And then a horn sounded in the night, crying out like the howling of a wolf, a cold sound to chill the blood. Yet it set a dancing fire in my heart, and here amid this nightmare, I now felt hope for this tortured world around me.
And then came the thunder, crashing like the sound of seven billion chains shattering.
And in that thunder, was heard the sound of charging hooves.
As the Wild Hunt rode once more over the lands, a new wind swept in from the sea. From the dying embers, an ancient flame was rekindled. And amid the tears of blood, a beautiful sight at long last met my weary eyes.
A pale light was growing in the east.
When my vision ended, I found the tears on my face were as cool and gentle as the morning dew.
Heed our words, brothers and sisters, o Children of the Earth!
By rock and sea,
By wind and rain,
By sky and thunder,
By war and spirit,
The Terrible Host now comes,
And with us comes the storm.
Everything changes now.
The Pagan spirit was never about love, peace and trinkets. It is ancient, primal, raw, untamed. Like Truth itself, it is merciless. Like Truth itself, it is invincible. And now it has reawakened.
At long last, in our direst need, the Gods have returned from their exile, and they have charged us with sounding the horn to herald the death of night.
Let us sound it together and ride fearlessly into the darkness, for every night shall end.