The gentle mother silently dreams,
And brings to her child a scent from the west wind's shore.

Then, she quietly departs,
And the only words her child hears,
Is a prophecy of forlorn melancholy.

The slumber of Titans, the fragmented lullaby, the roar of the guards,
All merge into a torrential black tide,
That carries the first demigod,
From the past to the future —

And that was,
The beginning of this long dream.