Based on the following prompt:
"Thane is accustomed to his flashbacks and usually takes them in stride. One day, however, he has a "flashback" of something that has not yet happened - essentially, a vision, but with all the intensity and clarity of the drell's memories. The vision is somehow related to Shepard."
The doors hiss open.
"Do you need something?"
"Have a few minutes to talk?"
"Of course, Shepard." The well-built commander of the Normandy slides into the chair opposite me, puts his elbows on the table, and sets his chin in his hands.
"Tell me more about you."
I smile slightly. "You are always curious, Commander. Very well. I will tell you of a strange phenomenon which I have been pondering much of late. It concerns my family; my mother's line, in fact." I lace my fingers and watch Shepard.
"For sixteen generations," I continue, "my mother's line had one female in each generation. Not strange, considering the obvious mathematics involved in gender selection, and the tradition of two children per family in drell culture." The commander opens his mouth as if to speak, but I raise one hand gently to silence him. "Let me finish, Commander. Your curiosity will be sated, if not even further piqued." His mouth closes.
"You will also remember how I have spoken of the innate ability in drell of perfect, and often involuntary, recall. This takes the form of spoken memory; a tool long used for oral history. However, sixteen generations ago, my ancestor Alina spoke something which no drell in living memory had done: she spoke a prophecy. She spoke, involuntarily, of something which would occur in the future."
He breaks in. "How could they tell?"
I smile again. "Because of what she said. She said, 'The wolves will surround you.' Tell me, Commander, do memories occur in the future tense?"
"Not … usually. But there's nothing saying they couldn't. The brain is—"
I lift a finger. "A fickle thing? Yes, Commander, with all due respect, the human brain is indeed a fickle thing. But the mind of a drell does not function in the same way, which I am sure you can understand."
He nods. "I can understand that, sure. So what happened next? You said something about sixteen generations."
"Yes, I did," I continue. "In each successive generation, the single daughter – for there was ever only one – would, at some point in her life, prophesy a single sentence more after repeating what already existed of the prophecy."
"What is the prophecy?" Shepard asks.
"In good time, Commander," I reply. "My mother died while giving birth to me, and I was her first child. Therefore, this seventeenth generation since the beginning of the prophecy has no female descendant, and what remains of my bloodline believes the prophecy to be complete."
"What do you think?"
"I see no reason to believe otherwise."
"May I hear it?"
"I thought you might like to, yes."
I feel my eyes slip from focus as I begin to recite words laced with power, words from long years of my past, words which bear the mark of the unknown.
"The wolves will surround you. They will snap at your heels. They will surround you, slowly closing in, their dark shadows multiplying in the starlight. Their howls are unnatural, echoing far beyond the quiet spaces of the mind and touching your soul. You will try to run, you will try to hide, but they will move inexorably on. You will not see them until it is too late, and you will be lost.
"In these same days will those whom you trust betray you, and the greatest of armies will refuse to help you. Friends will kill friends, mothers will hunt daughters, sons will stray to the darkness, and not even your memories will be a safe haven from thieves and robbers. In these days, you will not even be able to trust yourself. Darkness will abide for a great time, and all hope will be lost for those who seek the truth.
"But lo! the shepherd will come! You will behold a great light, which will herald peace among all life. This shepherd of light will slaughter the wolves, scattering their forces as the wind scatters the leaves in the dry season. They will be helpless against his might, and many strong heroes will follow in his wake to seek out those who cower in fear, and you will be saved.
"The shepherd will face his greatest foe in his last hours, when he will have given a drop of blood for each life in the galaxy, and when he will believe he has vanquished the last of the wolves. This foe will strike at the very heart of his being, and the darkness will spread through the shepherd's soul."
I return to the present, and note with some sadness, as I do every time I recite these words, that there are only seventeen sentences, as there have been since my mother whispered the seventeenth decades ago. I look to Shepard, my commander, my friend. He seems lost in thought, pondering no doubt the many odd parallels between these long-uttered words and his own quest. I wonder what he will do with these words. I wonder if it was a good choice to speak them to him. I wonder if he will understand the importance of a prophecy from the mouth of a race which lives in the past.
He moves as if to stand. "I should go." He is troubled.
"Very well, Shepard. Whenever you need me, I am here. May the oceans and the winds whisper wisdom into your dreams."
He flinches. Curious.
"Thank you, Thane."
He turns, and leaves, and I return to my meditations.
I can feel my lungs aching for breath. My body is on the verge of peace, but now is wracked with pain. I have never been so clumsy, so slow, as to let a blade slip through this body. I cannot see. I see only stars, and light, and darkness. Kolyat is here. My son is here. He is murmuring prayers beside my bed, the names of the ancients invoked not to slow my passing, not to heal this broken body, but to ease its pain and to absolve the many stains remaining on my soul. My son. My Kolyat. He has learned well, and will keep the traditions alive. He prays for peace, not for miracles; he prays for a gentle passing – he prays for the waters to slip over his old, aching, shattered father. He is a good son. He is a better son than I was a father.
The door hisses open, and I hear a familiar voice. Shepard. My friend. Ah. He is here. Kolyat is speaking with him. His deep, gentle, innocent, human voice is lined with worry and pain, with regret that he cannot do more. That is alright. That is healthy. He will truly learn the worth of grief in the days to come, I think, and not here at my bedside.
"Thane," he says, and I can tell that he wants to say more, but does not know what. That, too, is alright. He will soon learn the power of silence, too.
He takes a deep breath and I feel my chest burn in response. "Thane," he says, "would you repeat the prophecy? I know it's a lot to ask, but—"
I raise my hand, just barely. "Yes, Shepard."
I close my eyes for the briefest of moments, then they slide open of their own accord, and I feel shivers run down the length of my body. I feel my mouth moving, I hear sounds slipping from my lips, but the feeling is incomparable. I am not myself. Am I dying? Is my last gift to my friend incomprehensible sounds from an oxygen-starved brain?
Then the words coalesce in my ears.
"This foe will strike at the very heart of his being, and the darkness will spread through the shepherd's soul … In this time will the shepherd be tested as no other before him nor after, and victory will only be at the cost of more than he could ever believe possible: he will have to trust not in himself, but in those who place their faith in him."
I do not understand. I see Shepard's shocked face hovering just inside the field of my vision, and I distantly sense that the room has taken on the feeling which still courses through my body: more is residing within these walls than an assassin, his son, and a hero.
There is quiet for a moment, and then I understand, and I begin to speak again.
"Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths, I ask forgiveness. Kalahira, whose waves wear down stone and sand—Kalahira, wash the sins from this one, and set him on the distant shore of the infinite spirit."
Ah … the sea.
Shepard stared down into the glowing face of the child, his mind racing, his body crying out for respite.
What to choose?
Words floated through his mind, a shiver running down his spine.
" … he will have to trust not in himself, but in those who place their faith in him."
He set his jaw and looked away from the insolent gleaming face.