Prologue
March 1997. High above the swirling chaos of a tempest, three figures stood atop a churning thunderhead. The setting sun, a fiery orb dipping towards the horizon, bathed them in an ethereal light that pierced through the storm’s fury. Jagged bolts of lightning illuminated the scene in sporadic bursts of blue, casting dancing shadows across their faces.
A voice, rich and resonant, like velvet draped over steel, broke the silence. “So, do you know who it is?”
A second voice, light and melodic, responded with a hint of celestial amusement. “No,” it chirped, accompanied by the rustle of feathery wings. “But we know where. We will be watching the few children as they grow, and see which one shows the signs.”
The first voice rumbled, a hint of anticipation in its depths. “Good. I will also have my eyes on them. Where will it be born?”
A third voice, softer but no less divine, answered. “Veritas.”
As if on cue, a celestial wanderer graced the sky. A comet, its twin tails streaming blue and white, blazed a silent path across the heavens.
The first voice, its tone a blend of admiration and apprehension, spoke once more. “This will be a powerful one.”
“Indeed,” the second voice agreed.
“We have contingencies,” the third voice added, a note of steely resolve underlying its gentle tone, “if we cannot contain it.”
And with that, the three figures vanished, leaving the storm to rage on beneath the watchful gaze of the comet. Its ethereal glow, a silent promise of both hope and destruction, lingered in the sky, a harbinger of the extraordinary events to come.
