In the theater of existence, there is a character unseen and oft forgotten:
The soothsayer.
Veiled in shadows, he whispers of futures untold, of paths yet to tread. His eyes, milky white, see not the world before him but the worlds within.
A tragic figure, to be sure, for his sight comes at the cost of vision, a cruel joke played by the fates.
Remind you of anyone, perhaps another man not of sight, yet called Vision.
He wanders the alleys of perception, his eyes sacrificed on the altar of enlightenment, his Third Eye claimed to be wide open.
He is a beacon for the lost, the desperate, those clawing at the edges of reality for a glimpse beyond the veil.
His followers hail him as the Awoken One, the seer of what lies beneath the superficial tapestry of the physical realm.
Yet, what is vision without sight? A bird with wings yet chooses to walk; a king with a crown who knows not of his kingdom.
This Awoken One dances on the edge of a blade, claiming to see through the mundane into the essence of all.
But here lies the irony, for in his quest to see everything, he sees nothing of the true nature of existence.
He is but a child playing with shadows on the wall, ignorant of the fire behind him.
I am no soothsayer.
I am a harbinger.
Vision, I am a reality that breaks illusion, a truth that shatters delusion.
Your third eye seeks light, but I am the darkness that swallows it whole. Your sonar senses echo back a world you can comprehend, but I am the silence where sound goes to die.
You feels the world, but I am the cold that numbs the touch.
You are a blind man leading the blind, a guide to a destination that does not exist. What can a third eye perceive in the face of the ultimate truth—everything ends, everything succumbs, everything returns to the abyss from which it came.
Where you offer insight, I offer inevitability.
Where you whisper of possible futures, I declare the only future that is certain.
In the grand play of existence, you might be the oracle, but I am the final act.
For in the end, Vision, I need you to know that it matters not what you see or what you believe.
Against the relentless tide of decay, your visions are but ripples in a pond, fleeting and inconsequential. You may blind himself to the world, but you cannot blind himself to the truth I bring.
In the end, you will realize that vision without sight is but a dream within a dream. As the dreamer wakes, the dreams dissolve into the harsh light of dawn.
The dawn I bring, not of light, but of an eternal night.
In the end, it is not the soothsayer who holds power, nor the oracle who shapes fate.
It is the inevitable, the unyielding, the undiscriminating force of nature that I embody.
Decay.
For all eyes close in the end, even those that never truly saw.