You stand at the gate, no longer a child, and not yet an angel: you see the sign, check on your own palm, it all lines up with the prediction. The years have not altered the meaning, as you recall, when you were last here, eons back, in the mist of a forgotten era, already you knew: you’d come back, and your daughters would follow, for there is no peace, until Gaia is safe, until Mother has reclaimed Her Creation.

For She knows the end, the story written, in the palm of Her hand. And you, sister, you are here to make Her will come true, against the demons, against the war waged in the name of fake deities: Her will be done, as you reach for Heaven, soon your rightful Home.

And so, you cross the threshold, heart beating, your head high, leading the Army of Earth.

Peace.