The sun rises, shining a deep, red hue over the cityscape, drenching the still-sleeping populace in its unwavering light. The tides have turned, and the hour draws near where those that have kept quiet will emerge from the shadows, enacting vengeance upon the wronged.
The planets have no doubt bestowed myriads of abuse toward the game-players over the past year. Perhaps, they have always known it would come to this. At once, the sleeping giants lay down their aggravation, and form a link of protection surrounding our fragile inner and outer selves.
Why the change of pace? For so long, Saturn, you have disrupted our efforts to build, establish, and balance. Now, your staff has been thrust into the ground, granting stability to our enflamed Moon before her dark transit through the past.
He glares sternly into our eyes, demanding our questions be silenced, for now. The mighty god carries the weight of his brow as one who has seen too much, and the Aquarian Age, far into the future, ripples in response.
The shamans, Pholus, Nessus, and Chiron, have retreated into ceremony. No doubt, our guiding light calls us home, offering shelter within the comfort of what we know to be family. The effect of our dreaming has begun to take shape around the planet, no longer individualized.
"You are the waking dream," Neptune replies, continuing to find empowerment in the early charged degrees of Pisces. "This is no longer about you. The resonance and retribution of your inner selves have evolved, manifesting themselves in angelic countenance. Let them take flight."
Karmic forces reunite from the past, triggered by phrases and remembrances decided upon centuries ago, unlocking a hidden destiny. Our eyes flutter open to greet the day, the sun's rays granting us an extended calm. The birds sing with peaceful repose, and the average day progresses as one might expect.
What we do not see are the mystics at hand--a secret order floating through the shadows. The game is set; every cog in place, every wheel in motion, the universe in symphonic accordance with itself.
A neighborhood church echoes the familiar hymn:
"...the foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conquerer silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps."
Quietly, a sense is gathered: this brewing war is far different than what we have come to expect, and a stark revelation comes upon us. The transformation is cold and distant, stricken with subconscious ripples. The towers are dismantled from within.
"You stand at the precipice," Saturn speaks, conducting the congregation. He leans upon his staff like a crutch, his weariness revealing itself. "Your reality is doomed to be broken. Let go of concept. Let go of religion. Let go of understanding. Soon, you may lean upon my staff, and allow it to be your reason."
At that moment, the roof of the church flies open; brick and mortar spiraling upward into a swirling vortex. Saturn has opened the Portal of Time, and an array of Universes lie above us, asking to be explored.
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