(One of the earliest Garou legends, which foretells the Apocalypse.)
Phoenix took me.
Carried me in his claws.
High above the world.
So that I could see beyond tomorrow.
And I looked.
I beheld the future.
I saw the death of many of our relations. Hunted beyond hunting, death beyond death, to the last one. There were no more children, or grandchildren, or fathers, or mothers. This was the first Sign the Phoenix gave to me, that the Children of the Weaver, the Homids, would give to us, the Garou.
I beheld the future.
I saw the Children of the Weaver birthing. A great tide of Humans, rising. I saw more and more, until Gaia groaned at having to carry them all. Their houses overrunning, their rakes raping, their hands clawing at the parched earth, trying to feed off Her. This was the second Sign of the last days, that Phoenix showed me, that the Humans would do.
I looked again.
I beheld the third Sign.
So many. So many children. So many Homids. And they fell against each other, one to one, and the Wyrm brought forth corruption and made them each take a little. And their strange Fire I saw, out of control, the great Plume rising over the wilderness, spreading death wherever it went in that dark and cold land. And I heard the agony of the sea as She keened, for some drunken fool had poured a lake of black death out upon her. I turned my head in disgust, but I could not help but look again.
I beheld then the fourth Sign.
The Wyrm grew powerful, its wings fanning the breezes of decay. It spread its diseases and they were horrible: killing the Herd with diseases of the head and the blood. Children were born twisted. Animals fell sick and no one could cure them. In these final days, even the Warriors of Gaia could not escape the palsied talons of the sickness-bringing deathbird.
A tear in my eye, I looked again and the Phoenix showed me the fifth Sign.
I saw other plumes rising like death-spears toward the beautiful sky, piercing it, letting Father Sun burn and parch Her. The air grew hot; even in the darkness of Winter it was warm. The plants withered in the sun. A cry of pain and disease came up from the dying forests; as one of the relations cried tears of mourning.
Then, it was as a veil was torn, and the sixth Sign showed itself to me.
In these last days, Gaia will shake in rage. Fire will boil from the depths. Ash will coat the sky. The Wyrm skulks in the shadows made by these... and rears to strike. The old ones are all gone, the Guardians of the Pathways and the Crossroads are finished. In these final days, the sixth Sign will make itself known in the Packs that form. Each Pack will unto itself have a Quest, a Sacred Journey they must perform. Such is the will of the Weaver, and such is the will of Gaia, the Phoenix told me.
And I saw the sky turn black, and the moon was as blood.
And the seventh Sign I glimpsed, though I could not look on it in full. But its heat I could feel.
The Apocalypse. The final days of the world. The Moon became swallowed by the Sun, and it burned in His belly. Unholy fires fell to the ground, burning us all, twisting us and making us cough blood. The Wyrm made itself manifest in the towers and the rivers and the air and the land and everywhere its children ran rampant, devouring, destroying, calling down curses of every kind. And the Herd ran in fear. And the Dark Ones, children of the Wyrm, walked the streets in the day.
I turned my head from the sight. The Phoenix told me:
"This is as it shall be, but not as it should."
The Phoenix left me.
Now, I cannot dream. I can only remember the Signs, each one in perfect detail.
These are the last days. May Gaia have mercy on us.
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