[ WP ] Theme of Prediction-can just be an overview , idea or extract

The Tapestry, vast and imposing, arrayed in waves and patterns reflected a veiled sun upon the gathering prostrate beneath. Incenses burned in numberless medleys of cinnamon, crowgrass, and cythaki. The weight of the very air seemed to grow heavy with chants, deciphered from a thousand tongues, and forced into the restrictive narrows of the language of the Holy City of Talvatsu. 
 
 
 They had come from insensate empires and rudderless oligarchies, three-souled Interpreters and day-fearing Cryptists, exiled child-kings and diseased merchant-priests. Their commonalities were naked, revealed upon the velvet faces of the Tapestry. 
 
 
 Sesonga surveyed them from atop his throne of parchment. He could identify each individual; he could recite the thoughts within their minds, for he had spent decades memorizing what would occur this day. 
 
 
 He knew, for instance, that he would now hear the words: *They must give birth soon. We can not wait, or they could risk the Tapestry. * 
 
 
 “ They must give birth as soon as possible. They might risk the Tapestry, ” said Zealot Ausar at his right. 
 
 
 A spark, almost imperceptible, appeared upon the Tapestry. It left a thin tendril of smoke, languid and malnourished, in its wake. Sesonga spat upon the Zealot, who seemed too stunned at his own heresy to react. 
 
 
 “ Arrogance such as that will doom us all, Ausar! ” 
 
 
 The Zealot fell to his knees, eyes filled with tears. 
 
 
 He spoke, choked: “ They must give birth soon. We can not wait, or they could risk the Tapestry. ” 
 
 
 And then he whimpered, watching the line of smoke beseechingly. 
 
 
 It curled into a spiral, became an ourobouros and consumed itself into nothing. It left a dark burn where its root once was. 
 
 
 Zealot Ausar breathed out loudly and drew a gash upon his scarred palms with a dagger. Repentance. 
 
 
 Sesonga surveyed the gathering again. They had witnessed the exchange and the damage done to the Tapestry. Their expressions were different, their gestures hinted at thoughts that he did not know of. 
 
 
 They had changed. 
 
 
 Diverged from the Sacred Timeline. 
 
 
 Order had to be imposed immediately. 
 
 
 He shouted: “ People of the Eighty-Seventh Generation! Remember your words and your thoughts! Recall your futures and the paths you shall walk down. Adhere! Recite! Adhere! Recite! ” 
 
 
 **Adhere! Recite! ** The gathering chanted. **Adhere! Recite! ** 
 
 
 And Sesonga could see them return to their destinies. Their expressions, their gestures, and their thoughts again matched those on the Tapestry. 
 
 
 Order. 
 
 
 *The Last Generation is to birth at sunset. The Eighty-Eight! The Generation of the Prophet-Who-Returned! * 
 
 
 He spoke: “ The Last Generation is to birth at sunset. The Eighty-Eight! The Generation of the Prophet-Who-Returned! ” 
 
 
 They cheered, exactly as they were predicted to. The Tapestry shone. Its reflections cast away the creeping dusk from the glittering avenues of Holy Talvatsu. 
 
 
 *He shall be born, He who made the Tapestry, He whose history became His future, and thus our own. * 
 
 
 The words were said. Verbatim. Just as the Prophet had asked. 
 
 
 The gathering cheered once more. An impudent giggle marred its Adherence. The originator was located and dragged away by the guards. 
 
 
 The Chanters now began to mutter the Prophet ’ s Words and the Histories. They recalled the sacrifices of their ancestors, the heroes who wrested control of the world and forced it to Adhere to the Tapestry. The men and women who had funneled the infinite possibilities of time into the one singular path that was written of so many centuries ago. 
 
 
 The Ritual of the Aeons. 
 
 
 The Maintenance of the Sacred Timeline. 
 
 
 They chanted of Uteyelvasi the Vermillion Consort, who brought down the Songbird Revolts that threatened to create an alternate timeline. The most crucial of conquests. 
 
 
 They chanted of Yasavarman the Determinist, who saw the indiscipline of the Middle Centuries and discovered the Third Interpretation that had stabilized the timeline. The greatest of enlightenments. 
 
 
 They spoke of Ithyeru the Savant, whose unknowable methods mended the Tapestry after ages of decay, which dragged the world back to the path it should ’ ve followed in a blink of an eye. The most glorious of victories. 
 
 
 And now Sesonga, Prime Guardian of the Tapestry. Sesonga the Revealer, would reveal the birth of the one generation they had waited for. The Generation of the Prophet-Who-Returned. 
 
 
 The most holiest of announcements. 
 
 
 *Let the women, restrained from dawn, give birth, and find heaven in the knowledge that one born in this age shall be Him, Him! * 
 
 
 He spoke: “ Let the women, restrained from dawn, give birth, and find heaven in the knowledge tha… ” 
 
 
 A moth, fleeing the incense blindly, frantic and maddened, landed upon the gates of his throat. 
 
 
 He spluttered and coughed. 
 
 
 “ …this…what…born today…Him, He will be…where was I? ” 
 
 
 And a look of horror permeated his features. 
 
 
 The gathering wailed and the center of the Tapestry, where the Prophet was depicted as an infant, blazed in a fire that burned. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

