I still remember that day as vividly as if it were yesterday—perhaps even more so. According to Zephyr, it was a blessing bestowed upon me; Ignacius agreed. But I could only see it as a curse. I witnessed parents turn on their children and children on their parents. I watched my loved ones devour one another's flesh while I huddled behind the sanctuary of my home, peering out through a small window as the horror unfolded. Strangely, I wasn't overtaken by the madness that gripped everyone else that day—the madness that drove every living thing to attack anything that moved.
I heard incoherent murmurs of prophetic voices, all speaking in unison in a peculiar tongue that, oddly enough, I understood. They foretold great treasures and foretold catastrophes that would befall Earth, other planets, and even the universe itself. In total, they recited seventy-nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-three events destined to occur. Despite not yet possessing an eidetic memory, I retained every single one of those prophecies with uncanny precision.
You might wonder how I can be so sure they were genuine prophecies and not mere lunatic ramblings. The reason is simple: out of those seventy-nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-three predictions spanning the last sixty-four thousand years, seventy-nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-two have already come to pass. Some prophecies my party and I exploited to our advantage, others we thwarted, and some—even we could not alter. We have migrated across planets, galaxies, and even entire universes in the name of survival.
But this final prophecy is different. We cannot escape its fate by fleeing to another realm, for it heralds the complete destruction of our very existence. Before I continue, you must understand the whole story from where it all began, from the first day of Stellar Year 0—the day everything started; the day we now call the End of Time.