Off-Grid Oracle

The oracle speaks not in words, but in frost,

in flame, in burns. Off the grid, beyond the wire, the truth ignites

in northern fire. Not in code, not in screen, but in the space where breath

has been. Off-grid oracle, whispering slow, through ice and draught,

through wind and snow. We are the keepers. We are the

flame. The world forgot, but we remain. The stars align, the silence hums,

the prophecy in ancient tongues. The signal fades, but we still hear

the pulse of truth is crystal clear. Not a voice, but a vibration.