1. The Shaman

The dying embers cast a flickering glow across the Shaman's wizened face as he watched from the desert crag. Shadows danced in the hollows of his cheeks and eyes. Below him, the great river stretched out like a slumbering giant. The full moon hung low in the sky, its disc gradually reddening as though it were bleeding into the night. The air crackled with an ethereal energy. His weathered fingers traced mystic symbols in the sand. His eyes rolled back in his skull and his body convulsed, possessed by visions of a future yet to unfold.

As the moon turned crimson, the Shaman felt a presence in the air, an energy that stirred his soul and filled him with anticipation. It whispered to him of ancient mysteries and hidden knowledge, tantalizing fragments of long-forgotten stories. A distant cry reached his ears, barely audible above the soft sighing of the wind and the mournful calls of creatures. Compelled by a force he could not name, the old man rose to his feet, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself against the chill of the desert night.

'Who calls to me?' he murmured, his voice rough and cracked from disuse. 'What spirit seeks my counsel on this fateful night?'

With each step he took towards the source of the sound, the Shaman felt the unfamiliar energy encircling him, drawing him deeper into its embrace. It was as if the earth sought to guide his path, whispering secrets only he could hear. He sensed that whatever lay ahead was something he could not ignore, some ancient power that had been awakened beneath the blood-red moon.

'

Approaching the city walls, he found refuge on a rock jutting from the ground. There, he accepted gifts of bread and fruit from passersby, their faces awed and reverent as they sought his wisdom.

'She comes,' he rasped, his voice like gravel. 'A child born of the blood moon.'

The crowd pressed closer, hungry for every word. They jostled and pushed, fighting for a better view of the ancient mystic perched atop his rocky throne.

'What child, wise one?' A woman's voice called out, tinged with desperation. 'What does this mean for us?'

The Shaman's milky eyes snapped open, fixing on a point far beyond the gathered throng. 'A child of two worlds,' he intoned. 'Her coming heralds great change.'

A murmur rippled through the assembly. Some clutched at amulets, others whispered prayers to ward off evil.

'Tell us more, Shaman!' A man's voice rang out. 'How will we know this child?'

The old man's lips curled into an enigmatic smile. 'Look to the river,' he said. 'When the waters run red and the sky bleeds - she will come.'

The crowd erupted into frenzied speculation. The Shaman sat back, seemingly spent. He reached for the wooden bowl at his feet, filled with offerings from the faithful. His gnarled fingers closed around a piece of bread, bringing it to his lips with trembling hands.

As he chewed, his eyes darted from face to face in the crowd. Each one etched with fear, hope, and wonder. He had seen it all before, countless times over his long years, the hunger for knowledge, for a glimpse of what lay beyond the veil of mortal understanding.

'The child will bear a mark,' he continued his voice barely above a whisper. 'A sign of her power, hidden from all but those with eyes to see.'

A hush fell over the gathering. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the Shaman's next words.

'She will walk between worlds,' he said. 'Past and present, life and death. Her path will be fraught with danger, but her destiny…' He paused, his brow creasing. 'Her destiny will shake the very foundations of the earth.'

The silence that followed was deafening. Then, like a dam bursting, the questions came flooding out.

'Is she a blessing or a curse?'

'How can we prepare for this, wise one?'

The Shaman held up a hand, silencing the cacophony. 'I have seen what I have seen,' he said, his voice suddenly weary. 'The rest… the rest is shrouded in mist.'

He closed his eyes, signalling the end of the prophecy. The crowd began to disperse, muttering amongst themselves. Some cast fearful glances back at the old man, others looked to the horizon as if expecting to see this prophesied child materialise at any moment.