Crimson Crescent - The Last Prophecy Of The Völva

Mist crawls low across the root of the world,
Ash falls red where the futures curled.
The völva wakes with a sunless sight,
Her tongue of iron, her breath of night.

She speaks from ruins older than flame,
From runes carved deep in creation’s frame.
A whisper first—then a thunder born:
“The final dawn will not be mourned.”

Wolves pace circles around the sky,
Moon and sun marked soon to die.
Yggdrasill trembles with cracking veins,
Its sap now smoke, its heartbeat wanes.

Hear the last prophecy of the völva rise—
Fire to oceans, blood to skies!
No shield will hold, no god will stand,
When the end walks forth across the land!

Spears rain down from the shattered rim,
Gjallarhorn screams its final hymn.
The dead march up from Hel’s black shore,
Silent feet on ice and war.

Jörmungandr coils in storm-choked seas,
Salt and venom on every breeze.
Frost giants wake from ages long,
Their footsteps shaping death in song.

Hear the last prophecy of the völva rise—
Fire to oceans, blood to skies!
No shield will hold, no god will stand,
When the end walks forth across the land!

She sees the gods break bone and spear,
Odin fall, though ravens leer.
Surtur climbs with a blade of sun,
One stroke—
and every fate undone.

Yet from the ashes of the slain,
New roots coil through smoke and rain.
Her final breath, a quiet plea:
“From ruin, build eternity.”
She fades to dust where twilight bled—
Her words remain.
Her warning said.
The world turns cold, the sky turns red…

the last prophecy of the völva read.