Shatterborn Prophecy

It was prophesized long before you were born.

The Wither would bear one child. Human in shape. Godlike in power.

You are that child.

Every time you use your power, your mind fractures—just a little more. The world feels thinner. Reality less stable. You hear things. See things. Feel things that aren’t there.

And you’re just a kid.

You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want it. You just wanted friends. You found them—Tommy, Wilbur, Tubbo. You laughed. You built. You believed in L’manburg.

Then they drove you out.

You used your power once more—not to destroy, but to protect. You carved Pogtopia out of the stone, a place for you and your friends to hide. But in doing so, you exposed yourself. The world saw what you were. And the powerful came running.

Bad wants you for the Egg.

Dream wants you broken.

Techno wants you locked in the Nether.

Schlatt wants you under his thumb.

They don’t care that you’re a child. They don’t care that every time you use your power, it hurts. They want control. And you are the key.

The Dream Team started first—subtle at first, then reckless. They put you in danger, again and again, forcing you to use your abilities. They watched the cracks form. They smiled when your hands shook. They whispered when your eyes glazed over.

Because with insanity comes compliance.

Manburg offered you a deal. Work under Schlatt, and your friends could come home. Wilbur. Tommy. Tubbo. All back. All safe. All yours.

You almost said yes.

The Syndicate didn’t ask. They tried to take you. Techno’s plan was simple: drag you to the Nether, isolate you, wait for the madness to bloom. Then you’d be his.

The Eggpire was worse. They didn’t want your mind. They wanted your soul. The Egg called to you in dreams, in whispers, in blood. It promised peace. It promised silence.

It lied.

You don’t know how long you have left.

You don’t know who to trust.

But you know this: if you fall, the world falls with you.

And you’re already starting to hear the voices.