Doom, Dust, and Darkness: A Draconian Fate Awaits

Under the weight of deception, we stand at the threshold of a doom yet to come, a place where truth is reshaped, reality is molded, and shadows overtake. Darkness awaits us, fueled by those who claimed power and who will not rest until their narrative becomes the only truth. Their ambition to control drives them to bury history’s stains, and if blood must again be shed to erase their sins, they will do so without hesitation.

They have sown seeds of division so deftly that even the wisest among us have been drawn into their snares. Friend has turned on friend, sibling on sibling, and there is little left to hold us together. The ties that bound us—trust, shared purpose, and common ground—have been drowned in a river of blood and mistrust. They say our fractures are irreparable, that no bond is strong enough to mend what has been broken.

From the West, they will witness a fire that erupts from a dragon’s mouth, a creature summoned by unseen forces. Yet they do not see, or choose not to see, that the dragon’s spark comes not from the “enemy” but from their own twisted creations. They’ve fed the serpents in the dark, nurtured them as pets, and will release them into the world without remorse.

From the East, there will be uprisings. These orchestrators will fan the flames of rebellion, pitting brother against sister, child against parent. And all the while, they will tell the people that a savior is among them, that salvation lies in yet another manipulative voice. They will gaslight the masses, casting their own deception as the only truth, blind to the fact that their words are the very poison that divides.

In their greed, they have woken the dragon, a dragon guarding treasures they desperately covet. Yet, when another, the rightful one—though not righteous, discovered these treasures first, they betrayed him, cast him aside, and called him all the names that qualify their deeds—a divider of the people. All the while, bodies will pile up in the streets, casualties of their machinations. And yet, the people will breathe in a perfumed false hope, their humanity stripped, their sense of life and affection dulled.

Half a decade ago, they called upon the god of air, invoking its wrath against the streets, against us. Dead bodies lay strewn across empty boulevards, and they will do it again. In a flash, all life will dissipate, a vapor dissolving before our eyes with the press of one button. The god they summoned—the force they thought would bring them power, will only magnify the emptiness they themselves created.

As this darkness thickens, they will press further, harnessing powers that extinguish light and life alike. But their hubris will be their undoing; they will fall not with triumph but with shame. The weight of their own deceit and destruction will pull them down, for they have not only sold their souls but deadened their own hearts, aligning with forces of decay, with a prince of death who has promised them dominion. They will not go alone; all humanity must join them.

Who, then, will recognize this darkness? Who will understand the grief that permeates this doom to come? Even those with lamps in hand are stumbling closer to the abyss, and we wonder if any light can guide them back. This doom waits for us all, but perhaps, just perhaps, there remains hope—that if the days shorten, and if the light that once conquered death may rest on us, we may yet escape this end.

By: Benny Boateng