The Sixth's Awakening

It began in the season of silver rains, when thunder slept and the forests held their breath. In the temple of the Sunfang clan, an old seer woke screaming. Her eyes burned with light — not gold, not flame, but something in between. The air around her shimmered; the priests fell to their knees, whispering prayers they did not remember learning. When she spoke, her voice was not her own. It echoed with the weight of ages: “The world will tremble for one who has trembled before. A light buried in the bones of time will rise again. Blood will balance blood — five for one, and one for all. The cub that never died will walk again, And the gods will look upon themselves and not know what they see.” Then the light faded, and the old seer’s body went still — her final breath carried on the wind that swept through every temple, every den, every hidden place of the clans. The gods did not answer. But for one heartbeat, every tiger-born turned their gaze to the sky — and somewhere, far away, a cub opened its eyes for the first time. The prophecy — not of the Gods — was spoken.