Chapter 8: Prophecy of the Moth Oracle
The violet moon hovered overhead like an unblinking eye. Its glow drenched the ruined summit in strange, twilight hues—neither night nor day, neither silver nor shadow. Kael stood frozen, veins still thrumming with the aftermath of the tether formed between them, Kiel, and Laeth. The air pulsed with silent music. A resonance Kael could feel in their teeth.
Riven's chained form loomed across the ruin, his wings half-folded and face unreadable. The chained gods behind him had retreated into the basin's cracked shadows, their expressions carved from unease. It wasn't fear that gripped them. It was recognition.
Aeris stared up at the glowing moon, lips parting. "This isn't natural magic. This is Veinlight infused with fate."
Thorne sheathed his sword but remained tense. "So we ask again: what the hell just happened?"
Kael opened their mouth to answer, but no words came. The energy they'd channeled still crackled under their skin like static lightning, but the moment had passed. The twins had stepped back slightly, giving Kael space to breathe.
Laeth broke the silence first. "The Vein twisted. The prophecy spiraled. Time blinked. We need the Oracle."
Aeris stiffened. "No. No, we are not consulting the Moth Oracle."
Kiel turned, voice solemn. "We must. No one else can interpret what's happening. Not now that the moon has turned."
Kael looked from face to face, feeling something fray inside their chest. "Then someone please explain. Who is the Moth Oracle?"
Aeris folded her arms, shoulders trembling slightly. "They were once mortal. A Seer who drank too deeply of the Vein's river. Now they exist between fate and madness. Their prophecies are riddles that rewrite reality. They don't see what is. They see what could break."
Kael stepped forward. "If they know what this all means, we have to go."
Aeris hesitated.
Then nodded, just once.
They traveled by way of the Vein tunnel—an ancient warp folded beneath the peaks, stitched by magic and sacrifice. The path was slick with unseen memory. It shimmered, a thin film of dreams brushing against skin and bone.
Laeth took point, walking with a swagger that somehow still carried reverence. Kiel walked beside Kael, his silence gentle, his eyes scanning every shifting curve of the tunnel.
Kael barely breathed as they passed.
They saw things.
Futures not chosen.
A version of themselves, crowned in fire. Another alone, lips pressed to a Remnant's skull. One dead in Thorne's arms. One holding Aeris's hand beneath the falling stars.
Kael stumbled.
Kiel steadied them instantly. "The tunnel shows everything that could be. Not what must be."
"What if all of them are true?" Kael asked.
Kiel looked at them, eyes soft. "Then you are more powerful than any of us imagined."
They emerged into Mireveil at dusk.
The Wastes were unlike any realm Kael had known. The sky overhead was painted in ink and glass, stars blooming in unfamiliar constellations. The trees grew upside down—roots tangled in the air, trunks piercing shallow lakes that glowed faintly blue.
And the moths.
Thousands of them floated through the air. Some were small as petals. Others large as wolves. Their wings were translucent, marked with script that shimmered in languages Kael couldn't read. They made no sound.
The Moth Oracle's tower rose from the center of the glimmering waste a spiral of ivory silk and bleached bone, impossibly tall, shifting as though breathing.
They climbed the steps.
Each one buzzed faintly beneath their feet, as if remembering.
The chamber at the top was circular. Mothlight illuminated every inch. Curtains made from spun chrysalis hung like veils, and the air carried the heavy perfume of old paper and crushed starpetals.
The Oracle waited atop a raised dais.
They had no face—just smooth, opaline skin and vast wings folded like cathedral glass. Where their eyes should be, two glowing moths fluttered lazily.
When they spoke, their voice came layered—young and old, feminine and masculine, soft as snowfall, and hard as fractured steel.
"The Veinborn comes with threads fraying."
Kael stepped forward slowly. "You knew I was coming."
"I dreamed of you before the moon was born."
Aeris bowed her head. "We seek the prophecy."
The Oracle lifted one long finger. Moths poured from their robe, spiraling upward, forming a glowing ring around Kael. The room fell silent, all air stolen by unseen presence.
Then they spoke:
"One will lie.
One will die.
One will chain you.
One will burn the world for you."
The words hit like thunder.
Kael stepped back. "What does that mean?"
The Oracle tilted their head. "You will not know until the thread snaps."
Kael turned to their companions. All watched in silence. Aeris, pale. Thorne, jaw clenched. Kiel and Laeth... unreadable.
Kael whispered, "It's one of you."
No one answered.
Laeth finally chuckled, but it sounded hollow. "Well. This just got spicy."
Kael stared at the Oracle. "Do I die?"
The Oracle's moth-eyes fluttered. "You will die many times. The Vein rebirths. It devours. The question is which version will become the truth."
Suddenly, Kael's head snapped back. Their eyes glazed. Their body convulsed.
Vision.
Fire. Ash. Screams.
Kael lay bleeding on the stone floor of a forgotten temple. Their breath came in short, wet bursts. Riven stood above them, his wings torn, chains broken, face shadowed by regret and fury.
"You always loved too easily," he whispered.
He knelt. Held Kael's face.
"I warned you."
Kael reached up.
Too late.
Riven's blade slid between their ribs.
Darkness.