I wish this world into darkness! I wish it would cease to exist! Not me, but the world, this dark and fallen place! Has it not tormented me enough?

But, as I say to myself, I stand to care whatever I wish upon this world. For I look, and see the Old Continent, content and fat in its satisfaction. The Old Continent no longer roars, it is rotting from the inside. And there will come a day when its rot will be finally complete.

I count 7 years before the rot will surface. Then the Old Continent shall see its first shatters of glass fall from its ancient grace. For there will come a horde from the East, to consume it, and a horde from the South, to set it on fire. And the hordes will meet and forge an alliance, exactly 7 years from now.