THE PROPHECY
The boy, a man, yet not of age, the man,
divine, yet not
a sage.
He rises from a veiled match, he the door, she the latch.
He holds the stars within his hands. Upon his head a crown now stands.
Be wary, mortals, watch the night when sunlight’s dim and darkness bright,
Worship not the lovely stones as they will conquer all your thrones.
Upon your wisdom or your might fair or foul will be Starsight.
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