"In this vision," he started, his voice trembling a bit, "I saw five enormous beasts-each one towering much higher than the height of any ordinary beast. They were gathered on a mountain so high it seemed to pierce the very heavens themselves. Among these beasts was a majestic lion with a mane that flowed like molten gold, a deer with antlers like ancient tree branches, an elephant whose tusks glowed like ivory pillars, a bear with fur as black as a night without moon, and a wolf with eyes that glowed like smoldering embers."
George paused for a moment, letting the gravity of what he was about to say sink in before continuing.
"These beings stood in an uneasy silence, as if waiting for something horrible. Suddenly, and without warning, the wolf disappeared from among them, leaving the others stunned. The scene changed then, and I found myself looking down over a grim landscape-one controlled by the wolf, now standing proudly on top of a mountain of bodies. The dead were heaped in gruesome piles, their bodies broken and twisted as if they had been ripped apart violently. The air was heavy with the smell of rot and the screams of the fallen sounded faintly, borne on a mournful wind."
"As I observed, a dark figure emerged in the distance-a form that hovered on the edge between man and child, vague and enigmatic. This form stood on another mountain, many miles from where the wolf occupied its ghastly throne. It held a sword, shining with an otherworldly light, and aimed it straight at the wolf, as if delivering a silent challenge."
George's tone grew louder, his eyes bulging as he relived the vision.
"The wolf, aware of the danger, emitted a deafening growl with raw fury. It sprang from its mountain of death and charged at the dark figure. The figure, not intimidated, came down from its own peak and sprinted to meet the wolf head-on. The ground under them, initially flat, started to rise as they approached each other, creating yet another gigantic mountain. The two met with a force that shook the earth itself, their fight so intense it appeared to tear the skies apart. The wolf attacked with a ferocious ferocity, jaws snapping and claws slashing, while the dark figure used its sword with finesse, parrying the wolf's relentless onslaught."
"For a second, it seemed as though the wolf would win. It slammed the figure onto the ground, its massive form standing victorious on top of the mountain. Then the figure regained its feet again, this time with large wings unfolding from the back, large wings that emitted the light of a thousand sunrises. It took flight into the sky, gazing down at the wolf, whose face twisted into a rage of fury. It hurled with a great wrench a long wooden spear, whose tip glimmered like a star, toward the wolf. The spear pierced true, burrowing into the wolf's head and forcing its skull into the earth. The wolf convulsed, the body twisting upon itself as it was pinned there by the spear, but immediately its form had begun to wither, morphing into thick, dark clouds that drifted gently away into thin air."
George's voice softened as he described the vision's final scenes.
"When the wolf was gone, the earth under the mountain began to shake. And from it arose another mountain. And so, there were now four mountains; one to each cardinal direction-west, east, south, and north. The western, eastern, and northern mountains gave way to great kingdoms, which spread out like tree trunks across the earth, their branches spreading up to heaven, heavy with the promise of power and glory. But from the southern mountain, where once the dead rested, it started to crumble. The body that had held it together was rotting away and turning into dust, and from this barrenness, life began to flourish. Green things sprouted out of the bare earth, blanketing the mountain in a spread of growth as if the earth itself was claiming back what was lost.
As George finished speaking, the cavern fell silent like a whisper. The weight of his words hung on the air. Everyone, their faces a mixture of wonder and unease, began to whisper among themselves, their heads whirling in an attempt to make sense of the sight.
Appreciating the effort the vision had put on George, Mia and Minerva led him to a quiet corner inside the cave. They presented him with food, a humble meal to replenish his energy, before leading him to a sleeping place. A flat, huge stone, carefully smoothed and filled with soft woolen blankets, was prepared. It was the same size as a normal bed, so that George would be able to sleep easily.
As George settled down, tiredness finally overtaking him, Mia, Minerva, and the elders sat in a different room, their faces somber with worry. They discussed the interpretation of the vision, their voices hushed and contemplative.
"Perhaps he is the chosen one?" Mia asked, her voice hardly above a whisper.
Minerva nodded slowly, her gaze faraway as she considered the likelihood. "This vision. it mentions old prophecies, battles that determine the fate of worlds. If George is indeed the one to bring these prophecies to fruition, then we need to be ready for what is to come. The balance of our worlds might rely on him."
The elders exchanged glances, their minds weighed down by the potential implications. They knew that George's vision was not just a simple dream, but a foretelling of events that could change everything they knew.
As George drifted off to sleep, unaware of the discussions taking place, the creatures continued to deliberate late into the night, each of them sensing that the future was now more uncertain than ever.
High in the open night sky, the mother griffin, with her shining feathers and great wingspan, sliced through the darkness. Her travels to the south took her far beyond the known lands of AlbëToryl, deeper into the foreboding southern portions of the kingdom.
Her flight was accompanied by the sight of stars above that observed her passage with quiet interest, their light poorly penetrating thick cloud cover.
The griffin descended into a forest that seemed almost alive with a haunting energy. The trees, twisted and gnarled, clawed at the night sky, their branches tangled in a macabre dance. The ground below was a carpet of thick, ancient foliage, interspersed with patches of impenetrable darkness. A chill hung in the air, sending shivers down the griffin's spine as she landed with a barely audible thud.
She picked her way through the forest's turnings, step by step silenced by the heavy undergrowth. Her sharp eyes scanned the black spaces, and her acute ears winced at every sound, heightened by the tension of alarm that filled the air.
The griffin arrived at a secluded clearing, in which a monstrous foreboding boulder towered like a sentry above the forest. Beside the root of this rock, a dark cavernous portal yawned open, draped in a heavy, palpable shadow. Ominous carvings and ancient runes encompassed the opening, their interpretations lost to ages but imbued with an air of sinister might.
Taking a deep breath, the griffin stepped towards the entrance. The echo of her footsteps appeared to bounce off the walls of the cavern, heightening her increasing nervousness. Upon reaching the doorway, a low growl sounded from inside the cavern, followed by the appearance of a powerful figure.
Out of the very depths of the darkness came a wolf. Its coat was as black as the chasm between the stars, and its eyes shone with a yellowish color that cut through the shadows. The wolf itself was both fascinating and frightful, a symbol of raw power and evil.
The heart of the mother griffin beat in her chest, thudding to every beat of terror within her. She lowered her head into an admirable sign of respect and fear for the danger that drew near, a wolf, and her strong and beautiful wings folded against her body to symbolize submission.
"My lord," she spoke, her voice shaking in a failed effort to be firm, "an Outlander has come to AlbëToryl."
The wolf's eyes tightened, and the cave appeared to throb with a darker, deeper black as it digested this information. The atmosphere thickened with anticipation, and the forest outside appeared to be holding its breath, waiting to
strike the next blow in this mystical confrontation.