The Prophecy of Anthrea.
Anthrea, a figure shrouded in rags, offered the weary Adam a cracked bowl. "Drink," she instructed, her voice soft but absolute. "You've journeyed from far."
Adam took deep, desperate gulps of the cool water. He sighed, the first moment of comfort he'd felt in days. Curiosity, overriding his exhaustion, prompted the question. "You called me Primus, and you said you were waiting for me. Do I know you?"
A cryptic, knowing smile crossed Anthrea's face, an entity full of terrifying knowledge. "I haven't met you, yes, but more importantly, I know you," she replied. "Every human being knows you. It is thanks to you we are all living in this hell, and that is the entirety of it."
She leaned in, her gaze unnerving. "You do not know me. I have always known things—like the name you shall bear, or the mice that will fall into your water."
Adam, skeptical, glanced up to confirm the ceiling was clear. As he lowered his head, a small, gray field mouse dropped with a wet splash into his remaining water. He gasped, terror finally seizing him, but Anthrea cut him off, her voice dropping to a chilling register.
"Or your woman's death," she added, making the air suddenly cold and eerily still. Cold shivers made Adam's skin crawl as goosebumps erupted over his body. "Or your condemnation. Your Rage." She stopped, her interest seemingly extinguished.
Adam couldn't understand the depth of his fear. His knees felt weak. There was something about the woman that defied all known logic. He struggled to disbelieve her, yet deep inside, fear crawled, eating him up as cold sweat dripped from his brow. He couldn't speak; his tongue felt paralyzed.
Anthrea replaced the bowl with fresh water, pushing a simple plate of food towards him. "Drink, eat, griddle up for your journey. Your doom should begin before the light comes around fully."
This time, Adam found his voice, raw and desperate. "What do you mean death? Doom? The growing seed? What will happen to the seed?"
"I know no more than my lips have already spoken," Anthrea cut him off, rising. "I advise you start your journey soon, if you want to see her before she dies—body and spirit."
Frantically, Adam grabbed a piece of fruit and ran out, heading home, terrified but driven by an irrational belief in Anthrea's word. As he disappeared into the Crying Flowers Forest, Anthrea's voice followed him, amplified by an unnatural power.
"You shall take on the name Primus, for you are the First Man! And you shall unleash rage, destruction, and arcane in the world to come! When the time comes, I will come find you instead!"
She dissolved into a burst of hysterical, frantic laughter, vanishing in a whorl of black smoke.
The Watcher.
But the scene was not unwatched. Someone—or something—was amused.
The Watcher, a cosmic entity of immense power, had been perpetually entertained. From the moment the celestials first felt fear of him, to the capture of the Human Spirits, to the creation of Adam, up to this very second, he had been watching, and he was enjoying the show.
The Gods were foolish, Adam was gullible, and Eve was a pawn.
Smoke settled, coalescing into the form of a small girl... "Anthrea," the Watcher called out, his voice welcoming and satisfied. "To make a man run to his death was a very good show."
Anthrea was not human. She was never alive, but a being created from pure Chaos to serve as a wild card, designed to disrupt the predictable plans of the Gods. She was an extension of the Watcher's will, a tool created from his amusement. She could take any form and fit any role.
"Now, for a better show, I'll lend him a fraction of my essence so he feels like he's got a chance," the Watcher mused. He turned to Anthrea, a dark, insightful lesson in his voice. "You know, Anthrea. Hope. Hope is such a funny thing. Assured of failure, hope makes you feel like you could win. Hope is the reason why Primus will play my own game and not those stupid God's."
The Watcher's goal was simple: to keep the sport entertaining. He would help give Adam hope, granting him the power he needed to take back what he truly cared about. He didn't care about the price the subject would pay; everything was arranged for his own amusement and his amusement only.
The Watcher stretched his arms. Dark smoke swirled from his palm, the raw essence of chaos, which he sent spiraling out to grant Adam a sliver of his unimaginable power.
"He's brought you a new question," Anthrea informed, her little girl voice now a flat statement of fact.
"Oh," the Watcher grinned, the expression curious and excited. "While this unfolds, I'll go play with the new puzzle."
********
Meanwhile, in the tranquil, ordered cosmos, two god Guards were dispatched, their purpose singular and lethal: to collect. The life growing within Eve, a seed of mystery beyond the gods' control, was about to be forcibly harvested.
The game had officially begun.