The cerulean sea sparkled as we sailed; the water caught sunlight and beautified it, enriched what we otherwise took for granted. Fish swam beneath the waves, and the sky was a clear light blue. The air was filled with the scent of salt.

My sailing boat was a beautiful bit of woodwork with bright crimson sails. It had plenty of space for all us, and a raised platform at the back of the ship for me to pilot. It also gave me room to observe my crew mates on the deck.

Finn, Aislin, and Gavin all had camaraderie, but Duncan didn’t seem out of place among them. She laughed at the right jokes, weighed in at the right moments, and had an infectious charisma. She was better at it than I was after only a day of getting to know them all.

Everyone was dressing casually until we neared landfall; even if we encountered raiders, we’d have plenty of time to suit up before they boarded. Aislin had her hair down, Finn was wearing sandals, and Gavin had put together a green bandanna. Duncan’s clothing was plain, but she still wore her gauntlets and kept her rapier close at hand.

For my part, I’d traded my tunic for a coat and blouse. I also kept my sword at my side, though I don’t know if our reasons were the same.

The journey went quickly by boat. It would take us only a few days to reach the edge of explored territory. The talk turned to supplies.

We had enough preserved fruit (dried nectarines and brined olives) and long-lasting vegetables (nuts and potatoes) to last a week, two if rationed carefully. Outside of that, our only source of food would be fish until our quest was complete.

If we were lucky, we might encounter a colony of birds that had left the homeland, or some sprouts spread by travelers. But nothing grew naturally outside our island, and I wasn’t going to wager our food stores on random chance.

Fishing wouldn’t be a problem. We had a net and some rods, and a well-maintained stove for preparing the catch. Aislin, Gavin, and Duncan volunteered to fish while Finn took care of food prep. It was a familiar system, so I didn’t worry myself with supervising.

Our course was straightforward, so I found myself spending less time at the wheel and more time in the map room poring over my books and our charts. I was brooding, and I think the others could tell. They gave me space, and I set myself to the task of hunting for any hints as to what awaited us in the capital.

On the fourth day, exhausted from fruitless research and hungry for sunlight, I emerged onto the deck and resolved to participate just a bit more in whatever social interaction was going on.

Gavin and Aislin were practicing while Finn and Duncan watched. They used lightweight training swords, little more than wooden rods.

Every move they made was routine. Aislin lunged, Gavin parried, Aislin twirled, Gavin ducked. Even without a shield he played defensively, waiting for key moments to reach out and whack at her sides. Aislin was aggressive, but steady; she didn’t try to push her luck, just kept up the pressure.

They were both grinning, but Gavin’s eyes shone a little fiercer than Aislin’s. I knew that look from all the times it had been in my eyes; he wanted to win. He saw a reckless opportunity, took it, and the duel ended with a practice sword at each throat.

A good third of their duels ended with ties of some variety, so I just clapped and smirked. They turned and bowed to me, then flopped onto a bench someone had set up.

Aislin said, “Good duel.”

Gavin replied, “Same.”

“I had you dead in four moves.”

“If I’d been more patient you would have been on the floor in three.”

They bickered fondly and Finn tended to their bruises. His alchemy made short work of such minor marks and by the time his ministration was done their skin was almost unblemished again already.

Aislin was the first to break away from their argument, and tilted her head at me. “You up for a round, Gwyn? I haven’t seen you and Duncan go at it since the trials.”

Duncan’s hand drifted to the pommel of her sword, and I gripped the hilt of mine. We locked gazes.

I forced myself to relax my grip and gave a forced smile. “Let’s not reopen old feuds. I’m too competitive for my own good.”

Duncan nodded at me and slowly took her hand away. There was an awkward silence.

Gavin broke it with, “Well, I want to take another look at the charts, add a few details. Care to join me, Aislin?”

She nodded and they descended together into the ship’s innards, leaving me with Duncan and Finn.

With only the three of us on deck, there was a tension. I don’t think any of us yet felt comfortable with the new situation, even after days of travel.

My conscience urged me to say something to Duncan, but my pride silenced me. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t make myself understand what there was to apologize for. Duncan was the enemy, and I beat her. It should have been as simple as that, but my former rival didn’t seem to see it that way.

All I could say was, “Thank you. For coming on this journey, I mean. I… I appreciate your faith in me.”

Duncan shrugged. “Fate chose you when you conquered the trials. I stand with the hero of prophecy.”

It sounded so easy when she said it. I wouldn’t have been so calm if our roles were reversed. What did that say about my faith? I didn’t like that train of thought, so I left Finn and Duncan for the helm and made minor corrections in the ship’s course.

Duncan and Finn took up the free bench and looked out at the crystalline sea. The air of awkward tension slowly subsided into peaceful quiet and the sound of rolling waves against the ship’s wooden hull.

Eventually, I heard Duncan say to Finn, “This view makes me regret never sailing before.” Her voice was a bit faint, but I had good hearing.

“Never?”

“Never far, at least. I’ve been on one fishing expedition, I think, but it stayed in close waters.”

“I like the sea. There’s something calming about its vastness. I follow Gwyn around on scavenging trips all the time. Why were you with the fishers?”

Duncan turned her head away from Finn and more towards the sea. “Back when I still thought I had a chance of being a hero I tried to visit as many different places and people as I could, in between training. I wanted to know the island I would be protecting. How could I serve a fisher faithfully if I didn’t know their ways? Or a baker, or a mason. I had a duty. Would have… would have had a duty.”

It was almost a comfort to finally hear bitterness creep into Duncan’s tone. Almost. She didn’t sound angry, just sad.

I saw Finn’s hands twitch, which they always do when he’s hesitating to say something. Eventually he worked up the nerve. “I think we all have a purpose. Sometimes that purpose is to be the hero, sometimes it’s to help others. I’m okay with my purpose in life.”

Duncan nodded. “I should be okay with it too. I’ve spent months convincing myself I am okay with it. But… honestly, when Morgan told me I was the chosen one I desperately wanted to accept, no questions asked.” She sighed. “When you’re groomed from a young age to be something, your entire metric of happiness becomes tightly bound to that ideal. I know there are more ways to be a hero, more ways to help others, but I can’t escape this notion that I’ve abandoned my people and my destiny by going on this voyage. It hurts.”

Finn put an arm around Duncan’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, friend. I hear your pain. I think we all have doubts about who we are and what we do. It’s in our nature. Sometimes that doubt is healthy, but sometimes it drags us down. When you have good people by your side, it gets easier to tell the difference.”

She looked over at him and smiled. “You’re good at this. I can see why Gwyn likes you.”

He laughed and turned his head down shyly. “I just try my best. Every hero needs a companion, and Gwyn is responsible for the life I have. I’m doing my part.”

“Trying to repay her?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that. I mean, I guess I do feel indebted to her, but I don’t think you should build a life out of guilt or debt. It’s just the natural thing to do.”

She tilted her head. “Interesting thought. I’m going to catch a nap. This was nice.”

Duncan descended into the ship, and then Finn and I were alone.He joined me by the wheel. “I take it you heard everything?”

I nodded silently and made another slight adjustment.

“You should talk to her.”

I gave him a look that conveyed the entirety of my opinion on the matter.

“I mean it. Duncan’s a good person, and the two of you would work well together.”

I sighed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Great. Listen, Finn. I don’t think she’s a bad person. We probably could make a powerful team. But I spent years thinking of her only as my mortal enemy, my sworn rival. She was what stood in the way of becoming chosen one. I can’t just forget that. I can’t just change all my instincts overnight.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m saying give her a chance. I think you might like her.”

I sighed again, this time with more frustration. “You don’t get it. I do like her. Too much.”

He stared at me in confusion.

“The problem isn’t that Duncan is a bad person. The problem is that I’m a bad person.”

“Gwyn-”

“She is willing to sacrifice everything she has ever cared about because she genuinely believes that helping me is the best way to help our people. She was offered the world and acted with integrity, while I was denied a dream and threw a world-class tantrum. What does that say about me?”

He didn’t have an answer.

I turned away from him and muttered, “Some hero I turned out to be.”

Finn put a hand on my shoulder. “Gwyn. You’re still the chosen one. You’re still the hero. And once we get to the capital you can prove that. I believe in you.”

He wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t a hundred times before whenever I was feeling doubt, but it still helped. Everything hurt, and hiding wouldn’t keep the pain away forever. I needed to get to the palace library. I needed to fix the problem. I needed to be the chosen one again.

I said, “Thanks. I… I’ll try.”

We enjoyed comfortable silence for a few more hours. Eventually Duncan, Gavin, and Aislin rejoined us.

As night was falling, a landmass grew on the horizon. Duncan looked to me for confirmation and I shook my head.

“Too small to be the capital. We can investigate it, though; we won’t go off-course, and it might confirm that we’re on the right track.”

The sun set, we sailed closer to the island, and it began to glow with ethereal light.

I was crying.

I was curled into a ball, sitting on a bunk bed in the hold of my sailboat, and I was crying.

Everything I cared about was gone. My friends, my library, my titles. The temple, the villages, the island. The kindred. Laughter, shouting, talking. My whole world.

My glorious destiny was in ashes.

My favorite books and a week’s worth of clothing were in a sack under the bed. My sword was in a lockbox at the foot of the bed. Princess Whiskerton was reclining on the bunk bed’s cheap pillow.

I was alone, and afraid. My eyes were puffy and red. My hands were shaking.

Nothing made sense. The world was too much noise and light and motion, and I just wanted to hide. I’d lost too much to comprehend.

Why? Why would they do this? What did I do to deserve this?

I hadn’t slept, and I was long past the 24 hour mark. The past day was a blur of action and conflicting voices and unmoving masks. I’d started the day prior full of energy and conviction, ready to become what I was always meant to be. Now I was numb and broken.

I was no hero. No chosen one. Everything I did just made things worse.

Who am I?

I didn’t know.

Boots on wood broke my misery coma and I mustered the energy to wipe my tears. I knew it couldn’t really hide that I’d been crying, but what was left of my vanity demanded the action.

Finn climbed the ladder down into the room and stood there looking at me. I could hear a thousand insults preparing on his lips. I could feel the weight of his disappointment in me. I’d been his hero, and I failed him. I failed everyone. I waited for his condemnation.

Instead, he said, “You okay?” Then he winced. “Stupid question, but I don’t really know how else to say… I guess I just want to let you know that I’m here for you.”

I stared at him and tried to process.

“I know you’re probably going through a lot, but I think it can help to talk. To know that you have friends, and this isn’t the end.”

“How?” I croaked.

He sat down next to me slowly, carefully, like he was dealing with a frightened animal. Maybe he was. He said, “You’re strong, Gwyn. Not just physically, but who you are. Do you remember how we met?”

I didn’t. I shook my head.

“I was just a kid, a new orphan brought into the temple’s care. I was quiet, and better with animals than people, and the other kids saw me as an easy target. They were throwing things at me when you stepped in front of me and said that the next person to throw something would lose a tooth. So when the biggest threw an apple core, you rushed him.” He grinned at the memory.

Pieces of it were coming back to me. “Did I win?”

He laughed. “By attrition, yeah. The first time, you got a few good punches in and he decked you. But you got back up, and again, and again. They had numbers, but you refused to stay down no matter how much they fought. Eventually they just gave up and ran away instead of trying to fight any longer. When you turned around and proclaimed your victory, your nose was broken and your face was covered in blood. It was a pretty gruesome sight for a kid.”

I smiled a little. “There’s a moral to this story, isn’t there?”

“Yeah. Don’t give up. Don’t let them beat you down. It’s not over yet.”

I took in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Okay. I won’t give up.”

“Good. The others are waiting at the dock.”

I looked up at him sharply. “Others?”

I followed Finn to the deck of the ship and stood by the boarding ramp as he joined Gavin, Aislin, and my oldest rival. They were all dressed for travel, and armed.

I folded my arms and stared Duncan down. She held my gaze unflinchingly.

Finally I said, “Enjoying the promotion, chosen one?”

“I turned it down.”

What?

“I want to help, Gwyn. I don’t care about accolades, I just want to do what’s best for our people. And Morgan’s plan is not what’s best.”

I thought you hated me. I hated you. What else had I been wrong about?

She gestured to luggage at her feet and said, “I want to come with you, wherever you’re going. The council wouldn’t listen to you, and they’re not going to listen to me. We need to show everyone that we are necessary, and part of that is showing solidarity, not turning on each other for power.” She hesitated, then continued, “You’re the chosen one, Gwyn, not me. I stand with you.”

I finally managed to tear my gaze from her and looked to Gavin and Aislin. They each nodded silent agreement.

“Duncan… Aislin, Gavin, Finn. You know the laws.” I stared at them all with an almost reverent bewilderment.

“We know,” Duncan told me. Again, the others nodded. “Exile is a price we’re willing to pay.”

They were better people than me. Every single one of them. Could I have made a sacrifice like that if it was Duncan facing exile? If it was Finn? I didn’t know.

I let all the new information I’d just been presented with sink in. I stood there with my eyes closed and my fists clenched for maybe a minute before I opened them and said, “Okay. Welcome aboard, crew.”

Finn gave me a wide grin, and Duncan nodded at me approvingly. They all picked up their things and started marching onto the boat.

I said, “I need some time to think about our next move. Get settled in, then wait for me in the map room. The others will show you where it is, Duncan. We are not giving up on the prophecy.”

They all ducked below with their luggage, and I moved to the prow of the ship. I was alone with my thoughts again, but this time I had a purpose. My friends had restored my drive, and determination burned in my veins.

Useful. Not useful. Two types of ideas.

The council believed I was a reckless narcissist, but that was irrelevant because I had no way of showing them otherwise. Lupa had spoken in favor of me, but that alone clearly wasn’t enough, and I had no way to apply pressure on that front.

The Gate was open. That couldn’t be walked back, and it couldn’t be ignored. Maybe there wasn’t proof of a threat out there yet, but the possibility of one had just become a lot more real to the council. Again, not something I could affect at this juncture.

Morgan considered me a threat to the temple’s power on the island. He had influence over the temple’s infrastructure, and connections to influential people across the island, but with Duncan’s defection he would be vulnerable. Morgan was an arbiter, an interpreter of prophecy. Without a chosen one to back, his control over the temple was tenuous. Regaining the allegiance of the temple’s warriors could be classified a non-issue.

Prophecy. It was the key to everything. If I could prove to the council that I was the chosen one, they would have no choice but to let me save them. It wouldn’t matter what they thought of me if I showed them in irrefutable terms just how necessary my presence was. The council had the capacity for reason, despite their callous dismissal of my claims. I just needed to make them understand. I needed real proof, real evidence.

I sighed and leaned on the ship railing. I’d tried the evidence route and found nothing. I had scraps. Little fragments of nothing. Those scraps were all that was left of the empire’s literary tradition. Every fallen library I’d been to was in the same state of decay. Three centuries hadn’t been kind to the empire’s books.

A spark flickered, my pulse raced, and I had an idea.

I marched into the map room and dropped a moth-eaten diary onto the table. It landed with a thump and everyone looked at it, then at me. They were clustered around it, all facing me.

I put my hands on the table’s edges and leaned forward. “The council doesn’t believe in the prophecy, and as much as it pains me to admit, I understand why. We grew up with the prophecy, and it seems as natural to us as the council or ancestor worship. But all we have is one old scroll and a bunch of reprints. Everything else is oral tradition, stories passed down that could very well have been warped by the years.

“We need evidence. We need evidence they can hold in their hands and read with their own eyes.”

Aislin picked up the diary, weighed it, and started to flipping through pages. She frowned. “We picked this up on a salvage run. It’s better-preserved than a lot of stuff, but it’s just full of minutiae. Some noble’s travel journal.”

“A travel journal I’ve read every surviving page of. The writer wasn’t just some noble, they were a scholar, and this documents their journey to every library in the bounds of the empire. A lot’s missing, but this passage isn’t.”

I took the diary from Aislin and opened it to a specific page, then pointed at a specific line that was legible.

Gavin read it aloud. “’The palace library is even more impressive than I had expected; every single book here has been Preserved to a far stronger degree than my own paltry work on this journal.’ What do they mean by ‘Preserved’?”

I grinned. “Notice how it’s capitalized? The fallen put proper nouns on all their magic, I think. I’ve seen Sorceress before, and one instance of something called Glamour. My hypothesis is that Preservation is another kind of magic, one we’ve forgotten, and that’s why this journal weathered the years better than all the other books I’ve found in ruins.”

Duncan’s eyes lit up. “Which would make the books in the palace library even more whole.”

“Exactly. Somewhere in that library is a document that proves our case. Maybe something that references our prophecy directly, or maybe just something to show a history of prophecy. Whatever it is that could help us, it’s in that library.”

Finn asked, “So is that the plan? Sail to the capital city of the fallen empire and plunder the palace library?”

I hesitated. “Yes. Well, maybe.” I sighed. “Look, I got into this mess by acting recklessly. So before we decide on any plan, I want to hear any suggestions or objections you have. I need a second opinion before I commit to sailing to a dead city.”

They were all silent for a few minutes. Finally, Duncan asked, “Do we even know where the capital is?”

I nodded to Gavin and he pulled out a tightly bound scroll, then unbound it to reveal an incomplete sketch of islands and sea currents.

I gestured at it and said, “We’ve been working on a few maps to make scavenging easier, and this one is intended to be a map of the whole world. Every time we find a new chart in the ruins, a new reference to far-off locations, we mark it on the map, and we fill it in with more detail when we find somewhere in person.

“Admittedly, we’ve never been anywhere close to the capital, but we know the general location of it.” I pointed it to a big red X on the map. “Anything else?”

They all looked at each other and shook their heads, and I slipped the journal back in my coat.

We left the map room and started rigging the ship for travel. As the work was finishing, Duncan walked by me and put a hand on my shoulder. “We will succeed, Gwyn. The hand of fate will guide our path.”

I wasn’t so confident, not anymore. But I nodded anyways, and watched the island slowly get further away as the boat picked up speed.

We set sail, and left our home behind.

I was reckless, but I wasn’t stupid. I brought two friends from the temple with me; Gavin, a warrior; and Aislin, a healer. We were all armed, though Finn only carried a dagger and likely didn’t intend on using it.

The Gate was hidden away in a cave beneath the council’s stronghold; they probably built their precious hovel on top of it to watch over it. It only had a single guard, easily dispatched with a knock to the head. We stuffed her in a bush and crept inside.

A winding tunnel supported by pillars of alien metal led us directly to the Gate. The Gate’s chamber was timeless in an antediluvian way, something eldritch and unknowable. The metal that composed the walls, floor, and ceiling looked like tourmaline or the inside of a geode, rainbow-hued and glossy. It was shot through with channels of deep obsidian that seemed to suck in the light emitted by cubes raised out of the floor.

The Gate itself was an archway of translucent crystal. Six people could have comfortably walked through it side by side, and I imagined imperial legions – or what imperial legions might have looked like – using this Gate to journey to a dozen different worlds.

There was a raised platform in the center of the room and I stepped up onto it. I could feel the potential in the air, the weight of history, the power locked away in strange crystal and otherworldly devices. A thousand years ago, or maybe longer, the Ancients built the Gates for us to find. They were pathways between worlds, twisting trails across the cosmos.

The fallen empire had used the Gates, once. Then the Gates broke, and the empire fell. Now, the prophecy warned of our enemies using these same Gates to destroy us. The council wouldn’t listen to me, so I had to show them; I had to open the Gate within the mountain and prove once and for all that they could bring about our downfall.

The others wandered the chamber, marveling at its strangeness, though Finn kept glancing around nervously. I’d explained to them my reasoning and they’d agreed, at least enough to join me. Opening the Gate was risky, but if it furthered the prophecy then it was worth the risk. I needed to be named the island’s protector, and I needed the temple to give me undivided support as the chosen one.

A lone voice in my head dissented. I did my best to ignore that voice and focus on my task.

Aislin turned to me and asked, “So what’s the plan, boss? Got some mystical key hidden away? Got the inside scoop on how Ancient tech works?”

I shrugged. “Actually, I was thinking of just blasting it with lightning.” Then I blasted it with lightning.

Red light arced from my hands to the Gate, and crackled along the crystal archway’s length. I fed the crimson lightning with my fury at Morgan’s betrayal and let out a feral snarl.

This is my destiny. I threw all my hate and frustration at the Ancient structure and watched the lightning break apart into more and more arcs of light, until the whole Gate was covered in crackling red.

My arms started to ache, and a wave of tiredness washed over me. Using this much sorcery was putting a strain on my system, and I was out of practice. My anger started to dwindle, and other emotions came rushing in: fear, guilt, and doubt.

What was going to happen if I failed to prove myself? How could I lash out at that innocent guard? Was I strong enough to save us?

My legs grew heavy, and I wavered. It wasn’t working. The Gate wasn’t changing. Of course it wasn’t changing. Had I really thought I could succeed where the empire had failed? Had I been so arrogant to presume I could cut the knot where others had tried to untangle it?

Sweat matted my hair. My vision blurred at the edges, until all I could see was the Gate. I needed this. I wanted this. It was mine by right. The council had denied me. Morgan had denied me. Now this Gate, this hunk of glass, would deny me too?

No.

My name is Gwyn, and I am the chosen one.

I would not tolerate this final defiance. This arch of crystal would not best the hero of prophecy. I pushed with my magic, poured more effort into it, found more depth to my well of fury and channeled it all into thrusting my will at this antiquated portal.

The crystal began to glow red.

I pushed with the last of my energy and watched as all the lightning I’d summoned, all the concentrated agony energy, flowed into the Gate and lit it from the inside. The Gate was infused with my power, and it pulsed in time with my heartbeat. It was mine.

Finn, Gavin, and Aislin stared at the Gate in shock, and then a hologram materialized in front of me.

Two dozen shards of colorful rock orbited an orange-red ball of fire. The image was bright, but I could just barely see my allies through the shards and fiery orb. I tentatively waved my hand and it passed cleanly through the rocks. I touched the fire and it radiated no heat.

One of the shards looked familiar, and I frowned. No hand gesture changed the image, but if the Gate reacted to sorcery, perhaps a similar principle applied here? I took a deep breath and reached out with my will, urging the hologram to enlarge the shard I was focused on.

The image obeyed, and the other shards fell away. There was only the shard I’d focused on, and the ball of fire it was orbiting. The shard was blue, with patches of brown and gray and a single large patch of green. I willed the image to come even closer, and I began to make out more detail. I saw the edges of the world where the land fell away and the waters grew stagnant. I saw the seas and islands.

It was my world. My sea. My island.

Two strange runes appeared and started flickering, changing shape erratically. One was displayed over the mountain I was standing inside, and the other was displayed in the center of the shard over a tiny patch of gray. The mountain rune was glowing, and the distant rune was dim. I couldn’t read the runes, but the intent seemed obvious: they displayed Gate locations.

Finn whistled appreciatively. “You did it. You actually did it.”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

I directed my will at the hologram again and returned to the view of the shards, and what I assumed to be the sun. I picked a predominantly-white shard and focused on it. The hologram showed me a shard covered in white and grey, with blotches of bright red. It was more mountainous than my home, and I didn’t see a single body of blue large enough to be a sea.

Two more runes flickered into existence, both dim. I picked one at random and willed it to activate. The rune glowed, and the hologram vanished. The Gate pulsed.

In the space within the archway, reality was torn asunder. Blinding red light coalesced into a sheer wall, and then that wall of light began to ripple with a liquid intensity. The portal shimmered, and beckoned.

The Gate was open.

Little specks of white fell through the portal and drifted gently into the chamber. The room felt a little colder, and a chill breeze brushed against my skin.

Gavin lifted his hands and caught a few specks. His eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Water! They’re like little flakes of water, but cold.”

Aislin frowned. “Is that whole world covered in frozen water? How could anything survive?”

“Maybe they live in the red areas?”

“Yeah, but what are those? They could be lakes of fire or something.”

“Or red grass.”

The two of them bickered over geology and biospheres, and I walked up to the Gate. It was magnificent. The cold was stronger the closer I moved. The wall of light was a silk curtain just waiting to be pushed aside, practically begging me to step through and into an alien world. It tempted me with visions of imperial legions and court warlocks striding through. Fallen nobility stepping onto foreign soil. This world might even have been one the empire conquered. A birthright waiting to be claimed. It sang to me with howling wind, a harsh melody becoming louder the closer I ventured.

I raised my hand to touch the light and pass through, but something in the air changed. A disturbance like someone was blocking a doorway. The portal started to ripple.

I took a few steps back and grabbed the hilt of my blade, ready to unsheath it if necessary. My allies noticed my behavior and went for their own weapons. Anticipation turned a few seconds into a silver of infinity.

Something came through.

It was a tremendous beast with ram’s horns and blue-white fur. It walked like kindred, but with a hunched back and the occasional dragged knuckle. Its eyes were baleful black dots, and it emitted a low growl as it examined each of us in turn. Its arms were thick as barrels and ended in meaty fists.

None of us moved. Aislin whispered to me, “What do we do?” from her place at my side. The two of us were standing just in front of the dais, closest to the monster. Gavin was off to the side a bit, and Finn was behind us.

I ran the odds in my head. I hadn’t expected a fight, but I’d prepared for one, and the three of us were dangerous. We could take on even numbers with ease, and we’d even won against superior forces. But a lumbering beast with curling horns?

The monster took another step closer. I threw out planning and trusted my instincts; I threw lightning.

It roared in fury as red agony surged into it, but then everything went fuzzy and when my vision cleared I was in Aislin’s arms and everything hurt. Too much magic. Too much strain.

The monster unleashed a roar of pain that dwarfed my pathetic groan. I pushed Aislin away and drew my blade, waving it front of me wildly while shouting to my allies, “Don’t worry about me, just kill this thing!”

The creature stayed back from my attacks while the others repositioned. Gavin came in beside me with spear and shield, while Aislin drew back to ready her bow. I nodded to Gavin, and we moved as a unit.

Gavin approached from the flank while I faced the creature head-on. The beast took a step back each time we took a step forward, and we steadily pushed it back. The feral look in its eyes turned wary, then trapped as it realized it was outmatched.

An arrow from Aislin bounced off one of its horns and the beast roared again. This time, the roar was weaker, afraid. I grinned and moved in for the kill.

A familiar voice shouted, “What is the meaning of this?!” from behind me. Instinctively I turned to look, and in that moment the beast lashed out. Gavin and I both went skidding across the metallic floor.

The monster dashed for the portal, evaded another of Aislin’s arrows, and vanished.

I turned on the intruders ready to furiously chastise them for costing me victory, but the accusation died in my throat when I saw the Councilors standing there.

Councilor Ibis had been the one to yell. As I stood there with gaping mouth she marched briskly over to Gavin and knelt by him, performing a cursory examination and checking his vitals.

Capra and Lupa focused on the Gate and slowly walked over to look at it, though both stayed a safe distance away. Lupa whistled.

“Impressive work, kid. How did you pull it off?”

I blinked a few times, registered the question, and managed to say, “Lightning.”

“Ah. The same lightning as you employed on an innocent guard earlier today?”

I shrank in on myself a little, which was all the answer she needed. She waved a hand dismissively.

“No lasting harm, no reason to worry. I think it’s safe to say that this discovery of yours eclipses everything else.”

Ibis rose and scoffed. “Are you still taking her side? She just opened the Gate! How can you show her even a shred of sympathy after that? She has ruined centuries of stability with a single action.”

I could barely believe what I was hearing. I moved between them and pointed off to the side at Capra. “He asked about the threat. You lot said the Gates didn’t work, so there was nothing to worry about.” I spread my arms wide at the glowing portal. “The Gate works. The threat is real. I am the chosen one. Now is the time to act.”

“You have endangered us all!”

“I-”

Ibis cut me off before I could defend myself. “Yes, endangered! Either you reactivated the Gates and gave this threat of yours the method it needed to invade, or the Gates were working the whole time and you just informed all our enemies where we are and how to get to us. This was beyond reckless.

“I thought your proposal was unneeded, but even I thought Vesta was going too far when she called you a narcissist. Now? There is no question that you are driven by a vainglorious lust for power and praise. Opening that Gate was an act of destructive, self-indulgent narcissism the likes of which our people have not seen since the days of the fallen empire.”

The councilor’s speech hung in the air, and the only sound was the humming of the Gate. Everyone was crowded around me now, looking at me. Judging me. Haunting me.

Capra broke the silence with a cough and said, “I’m afraid I agree. The temple’s ideology has engendered in Gwyneth a dangerous zealotry. My apologies, Ibis, for dismissing your concerns earlier.”

Ibis nodded graciously. “We must act decisively and show our people that glory hounds and blood knights will not be celebrated, but punished. I move we determine the girl’s fate immediately, and vote in favor of exile.”

Terror swallowed my rage. Exile? Leaving everything behind? No. No, that wasn’t possible. I-

Lupa threw up her hands and protested, “This is ludicrous! She was reckless, but if you have a problem with her ideology then we should be targeting the temple, not her. She could be useful, Capra. This was not an act of malice, and we should not throw away resources just as we learn about a threat to our world.”

Capra shook his head. “The temple shall be dealt with later. Gwyn is too dangerous, too volatile.”

“I- I’m standing right here,” I mumbled.

“I cast my vote in favor of exile.”

Lupa made a little sound of frustration and stormed off.

Ibis said, “Lupa has chosen not to vote. Gwyneth of the temple, you are now an exile. You may bring supplies necessary for survival, and a boat if one is offered to you. Anyone who seeks to join you will also be labeled an exile, and never allowed to return here. If you attempt to remain on the island, you will be removed by force. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, child.”

Then she was gone, and Capra was gone, and I was alone and afraid.

I was an exile.

Princess Whiskerton greeted me when I came home. I petted her a few times, then fed her some scraps of meat, to which she purred appreciatively and set about devouring. When she was done, she curled up on my lap and fell asleep.

My room is nice. The walls are all lined with shelving packed with books, and I have a few lockboxes for the more delicate and valuable works. I was sitting on my bed, which has comfortable sheets and a few beige pillows. There are a few chairs and pillow piles scattered about for when I don’t want to read on my bed. My sword was in a chest with the rest of my weapons, in the corner. I hadn’t brought it with me to the council.

I live in the temple, like most of our warriors. We eat and bathe in the temple, or sometimes in the village with other followers of the faith. We each have a purpose. We each have a place in the prophecy.

I just tortured a man.

I kept petting my cat. I’d only run so far as my horse, then mounted it and rode the rest of the way. The temple was situated close enough to the council that it only took me a few hours by horseback to get home, but most of the day was still gone. I didn’t know if Finn had tried to follow me.

They denied me.

I focused on my cat’s breathing and tried to slow mine down, but my ribcage still felt pressed in and there was a dark, angry cloud making it hard to think about anything but the miserable bastards who had taken from me the only thing that mattered.

I wanted to laugh, or cry, or shout, but I just sat there. I let myself fall back onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. It was painted with images of the chosen one that I wasn’t. It depicted legends of the hero I wasn’t. I wanted to burn the paint off the ceiling, but then my books might catch fire, and I wasn’t going to let two human rights violations occur in one day.

My books. My books had the solution.

I gently scooped Princess Whiskerton off my lap and onto the bed, then slipped over to one of the lockboxes and carefully opened it.

The books on the shelves were all in good condition. Some of them had simple covers, others had a little more color. Some were handwritten first editions, some were second or third editions with printing press lettering. They were musings on prophecy from the temple, stories dreamed up by writers in other villages, and scientific documents put together by scholars. I collected all of them and loaned them freely, on the condition that those who read my collection also contributed to it.

In the lockboxes were a more precious treasure: relics from the fallen empire. Waterlogged journals, torn scraps with barely legible handwriting, and faded illustrations. Pottery shards, moth-eaten fabrics, and rusty metal. A ravaged history of our cultural heritage, pieced together through years of trading with older families and scavenging driftwood from the sea.

When our ancestors fled the fallen empire, they didn’t take much art with them. They took tools and supplies, but very little art. The ancestor spirits rarely talked about the fallen empire, except to mourn its passing or warn of repeating its mistakes. Until earlier that day, I’d never heard of Empress Aurelius or the city of Garac. I would have to record those names when I had the free time.

All I’d ever learned was this: some hundreds of years ago, the kindred had an empire that spanned a dozen worlds, or perhaps less. They knew sorcery, and alchemy, and prospered. Then the Gates broke, and the empire collapsed, and our ancestors survived by fleeing to the island we now called home.

I knew that in the last days of the empire there was a man named Nero who tried to stop the exodus. I knew that our island was the only place on the surface of the world that still bore life. And I knew that our ancestors blamed the highborn of the empire for its ruin.

That was it. The grand sum of my research was two paragraphs. But there had to be more. I started digging.

I was looking for something, anything that mentioned prophecy, or fate. Not even our prophecy, just something that gave precedent for my temple’s faith. If I could find evidence that the fallen had heard of such prophecies, it might be enough to sway the council back in my favor. It might be enough to cast Vesta as a petty, bitter liar.

A pottery shard depicting grand sailing vessels. A play about a boy prince who drove an icy sword into his father’s heart. A list of library locations. A shipping manifest that mentioned human cargo. The pieces of a cleaved tower shield, an heirloom.

Little pieces of history and culture each with a story to tell, but nothing useful. Nothing that could secure my destiny. Nothing to promise me what I was owed.

I shut the lockbox and draped myself over it with a drawn-out sigh. It was pointless; my collection was too small and too random to have any hope of finding evidence that I was right and they were wrong. Continuing to look at the same artifacts over and over again wasn’t making me feel better, it was just turning what was left of my anger into despair.

I needed to take a walk.

I said goodbye to my cat and started walking. I didn’t have a direction, I just needed fresh air and flowing blood. I needed an escape.

I was wearing a thick cloak, and I pulled the hood up to try and hide from the others. If they started questioning me about the council, about the meeting, I would lose my last shred of composure. I fast-walked through the temple halls and out into the afternoon sunlight, raising a hand to fight the glare.

In the distance, the sea glimmered purple and gold beneath the setting sun. A few fishing boats were coming in carrying meat for trade; verdant valleys and savvy alchemists provided enough food for everyone to eat plentifully, but people always craved variety. At the end of the week, the temple’s traders would travel to market and offer up crafts and jewelry in exchange for meat, iron, and other useful goods.

I didn’t think I’d be going to market that week. I didn’t know what I was going to do ever again if I didn’t solve my problem. I turned from the sea and zeroed in on a mountain trail that would be nice and secluded. I left the temple behind and started hiking.

The island is lush and fertile, possessed of rolling hills and white sand shores. Sloping mountains dot it, and the largest of the mountains, at the western edge of the island, houses the temple on one side and the council’s stronghold on the other side, the side facing away from the sea. The mountain is riddled with caves and passages; some natural, some forged by the Ancients.

The hiking trails are good for thinking, and solitude; there are so many of them that you’ll hardly ever encounter someone else on a hike. The rich mountain air is bracing, and something about the peacefulness of it provides clarity.

I walked, and walked, and tried to sort out my thoughts. Impotent rage wasn’t useful. Pity and self-loathing weren’t useful. My outburst probably helped Vesta convince Capra to vote against me. I needed to be calm and focused to claim my rightful place as the chosen one.

Walking helped. Not much, but it helped. Between my cat, the mountain air, and the passage of time, my well of fury was finally drying up. I could still feel it pulsing in my veins and beating in my heart, but it wasn’t going to explode again. I wasn’t going to hurt anyone I didn’t mean to.

I let out a long sigh and leaned against a stocky tree. I closed my eyes and felt the setting sun warm my skin. With my anger suppressed, my sense of the world returned. Chirping birds, a graceful breezes, and footsteps.

Footsteps?

I pushed away from the tree, opened my eyes, and whirled to face the trail behind me. Morgan was standing there with his arms crossed.

I scowled. “Oh. You. Leave me alone, Morgan. I’m… meditating.”

He ignored what I said. “Finn came back. He refused to talk about how the meeting went, almost like he’s trying to protect you. What does the chosen one need protection from, Gwyn?”

Standing with his spine straighter than a monogamous couple, Morgan was only an inch shorter than me, which was more than most could say. He was easily six feet, swarthy, and built like someone who carried lots of heavy boxes. He had a close shaved head of muddy brown hair, and an even jawline. He had a likable face with plenty of smile lines, and usually carried himself with an earnest, empathetic presence, the spitting image of a benevolent cult leader.

He didn’t try to put on that act with my anymore. The chosen one would not be treated like a fresh novitiate. His expression was stern, and his set was confrontational.

I shrugged. “I think I’m a bit too dangerous to need protection from anything. He’s Finn. Maybe he’s just being finicky.” I grinned at my pun. Morgan didn’t appreciate it. I rolled my eyes and said, “Fine. The meeting didn’t go well.”

He glared at me. “I guessed that much. Details. What did you do, Gwyn?”

I screamed at him, “I didn’t do anything!”

I stood there with teeth bared, breathing heavy, hands clenched into tight fists. I let out an embattled sigh and returned to leaning against a tree. I was tired.

I shook my head and repeated, softer this time, “I didn’t do anything. It was a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“Vesta. Ancestor, an old one, claimed she was speaking for all of them in denouncing me, and denouncing the prophecy. Said the people don’t need a warrior to protect them. Said I was a narcissist. Said all our preparation was just so we could take over the island.” My voice was drained of its conviction; I was repeating the details as if reading them off a particularly boring grocery list.

His disapproval morphed into calculation and he started pacing in front of me and muttering under his breath. I let him pace.

Finally, he looked up at me and said, “I have to name Duncan the new chosen one.”

It took a bit for that to kick in. First I stared at him, befuddled and confused, convinced I’d misheard him. Then I started looking around for the audience he was clearly making this joke for the benefit of. When that too passed, I met his eyes and said, “Fuck no.”

He sighed, threw up his hands, and turned to look at the island below. “I knew you’d be this way. You always have been. You’re more concerned with your role in the prophecy than seeing it to completion.”

I scowled at him and snapped back, “I just spent the most grueling hour of my life standing in a shitty room talking up at three masked menaces with bloated self-importance and a fascination with arguing the littlest details to the death. I did that for the prophecy. For our people. Maybe you just can’t stand my independence.”

That got his attention. He faced me, narrowed his eyes, and said, “I stood by you when others said you were too brash. I supported you as the chosen one because I respected your strength, and your heart, and thought you were the real deal. But if the council doesn’t want you, then for all our sakes I need to go with a candidate who might have a better shot at convincing them.”

“I’m stronger than Duncan. I’m faster than her, tougher than her, and smarter too. I’m a more powerful sorceress, and I have sharper reflexes. I am the superior warrior.”

“And without the council’s approval you are just one warrior. The chosen one has to be more than that. She has to be a leader, an icon to inspire the people. Duncan has always been more willing to compromise. She is a better face to our faith. This is about doing what’s best for the kindred, Gwyn.”

I laughed in his face. “No. This is about power. You’re afraid of me because you can’t control me, and now you’re taking your golden opportunity to shove me aside and put your little puppet in charge. You just can’t bear the thought of losing your precious cult, can you? Duncan will follow your agenda, and report to you, and with the chosen one in your pocket you’ll get to pretend you’re a real leader, that you have real power.

“I won’t let you, Morgan. I won’t let you destroy what I believe in just so things fit your schematic for our people. I am the chosen one. And I will find a way to prove it. I’ll make the council eat their words, I’ll put that talking corpse in her place, and when I’m done you’ll regret ever siding against me. This is my destiny. Stay out of my way.”

Morgan just shook his head slowly, said, “So be it,” and walked away.

I seethed in solitude and gave up trying to stop being angry.

I was furious. I was bitter. I was terrified, and frantic, and on the verge of despair and tears. Nothing I did worked; I nail-scraped my skin, I breathed in a dozen different ways, and I beat up a shrub that had it coming. I still felt red-hot energy coursing through my veins and scratching my skin from the inside out. I wanted to lightning something, but the birds and rodents stayed away from me and trees didn’t know how to scream.

It was all-consuming. I wanted to think, to act, to make some progress on fixing the problem, but my fury dragged me down and enveloped me.

I needed to channel it. I started running through ideas in my head, letting my anger feed into them. Violence was good at solving problems; how could it solve this one?

Fighting against Morgan would make me feel better, but it wouldn’t solve the council and would probably tear a rift in the temple’s structure. Fighting against the council would make me feel better, but it would alienate me to the whole island and weaken us for when the invaders came.

They needed me. But how could I show them that?

The mountain air wasn’t helping anymore. I took a long route to avoid Morgan and made my way back to the temple. Finn was waiting for me in the courtyard.

The first thing he did was apologize, which should tell you all you ever need to know about Finn.

He wrung his hands and said, “I’m so sorry for tipping off Morgan. I tried to just avoid it, but I think that made it worse. I told him he should give you space but he didn’t listen. Sorry.”

The courtyard was empty except for us, and the last rays of sunlight cast long shadows over clay lanterns and the painted brick ground. Stone tile roof and pine wood support beams framed the courtyard, and above us the temple stretched into the mountain and was subsumed by it. There were a few dummies and weapon racks left out from training, but everyone was off eating, sleeping, or studying.

Morgan hadn’t told them yet. Maybe Duncan, but not the others. For the moment, they were blissfully unaware that our village’s whole purpose was in jeopardy.

I shook my head at Finn and said, “No, I’m sorry. I left you to clean up my mess at the stronghold and that wasn’t fair of me. I lost my temper and forced you to deal with it.” I proffered my hand. “Bygones?”

He clasped my hand and nodded. “Bygones.”

Then we talked. The council hadn’t told him what went down, so I informed him of my extended argument with them, and about Morgan’s decision to make Duncan the chosen one instead.

“Morgan doesn’t believe I’m the chosen one. Vesta doesn’t believe the prophecy is real. The council doesn’t believe there’s a threat on the other side of the Gates. And I don’t know how to prove it to any of them.”

Finn winced. “Yeah, not a great chain of events. You sure you want to try and solve this now? Sleeping on a problem usually helps me get a better feel for it.”

I shook my head firmly. “I don’t have much time. Morgan was going to announce my success tomorrow, at dinner in front of the whole village. He’ll probably keep that time, but use it to make Duncan the chosen. I need to make my move before him.”

“I’m there for you, Gwyn, but I just don’t see what we can do. You can’t change Morgan’s mind. You probably can’t convince the ancestors without evidence you don’t have. And I don’t even know where you’d start with the council and the Gates.”

Inspiration struck like a lightning bolt from the heavens. A bit of good humor returned to me and I said, “That’s it! I know how to fix this; I know how to show everyone they need me.”

“How?” Finn stared at me with a befuddled look on his face. My grin only widened.

“I’m going to open the Gate.”

My name is Gwyneth, and I want to be the chosen one.

I practiced those words in my head as I paced back and forth in front of the doors to the council’s inner sanctum.

My name is Gwyneth, and I am destined for greatness.

Too aggressive? I like aggressive. But what if they don’t?

My name is Gwyneth, and I wish to protect the kindred from our enemies.

Subtle. I hate subtle.

I growled and glanced around for something to punch. I’d been waiting for figurative centuries in a cramped antechamber while the council deliberated over the farming dispute some random nobody was raising against some other random nobody. The anticipation was compressing my lungs into fleshy coal, and at this rate they would turn to diamond before I had a chance to present my case.

This was supposed to be my big moment. This was the moment I’d been training for since I could walk, and instead of basking in it I was pacing in a tiny stone box of a room.

Finn coughed lightly. “You okay, Gwyn?”

I whirled around to face my best friend and declared, “I. Am. Fine!”

The look on his face was not as gullible and trusting as I had hoped.

I sighed and flopped onto the nearest waiting chair. “Okay, so I’m not fine. This is my destiny, the purpose of my very existence. This is the moment that eclipses all other moments, the top of the mountain that is my life. This is the culmination of nineteen years of effort. You know the prophecy. You know what this means for me.”

He nodded. Of course he knew the prophecy; he grew up in the same cult I did.

I growled again and sank deeper into my chair. “I keep getting little stabs. Little pinpricks of something unfamiliar in my chest. Intrusive thoughts getting in the way, voices telling me that maybe I’m not the right choice.

“I think I’m feeling doubt. But I hate doubt. The chosen one isn’t supposed to doubt herself. But these little insect voices are gnawing at the inside of my skull and devouring my confidence. What if the council doesn’t think I’m strong enough? What if they think Duncan is the better choice?”

Finn shook his head. “They won’t.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Obviously. That would be ridiculous, and it’s ridiculous to even consider them choosing her.” I frowned just thinking about it and started picking at the skin around my fingernails. “But that’s my point: this self-doubt thing is ridiculous and infuriating and I just want those doors to open so this damn anticipation can finally end.”

I let out another long, frustrated sigh and let myself sink down from the waiting chair to the floor. I stared up at the ceiling, but it was boring, so I stared at the walls, but they were boring too. Every other minute I looked around the room trying to find something new and interesting to distract me, but after twenty-seven tries I was still unsatisfied.

The council’s stronghold was carved into a mountain, and was arguably just a series of glorified caves. The antechamber to the inner sanctum had stone walls, a stone floor, and a stone ceiling; like every room in the stronghold, simplicity had been incorrectly deemed the best approach.

A few marble pillars and fur rugs attempted to provide variety, and an iron brazier gave light. In one direction, plain doors leading to the stronghold entrance. Opposite, tall doors of local pine carved extensively with images of life in the mountains.

In one carving, a huntress chased deer. In another, an alchemist mended wounds and hastened the growth of grain. There were lots of little markings here and there to represent the different villages in the mountains, but there wasn’t one for my village. It didn’t surprise me that the council had neglected to add our little hamlet. Most people liked to pretend we didn’t exist at all.

I lost interest in the door and returned to waiting.

After several more eternities, the sanctum doors opened. Two agrarian types shook hands and walked out through the exit doors, while a guard nodded for me to enter.

I took a deep breath, collected my thoughts, and strode in to the council’s inner sanctum.

The inner sanctum was much fancier than the antechamber. The room was vast and triangular, two points to either side of me and one in front. At least a dozen braziers lined the wall behind me, and there were more braziers flanking the three marble thrones sitting atop a raised dais in front of me. The ceiling was flat, but blue crystals grew down from the center of the ceiling like a diamond cocoon or a glassy stalactite. Stalagmite? Whatever it was called, it pulsed erratically with faint, cold light.

The council kept two guards on call, one by the door and one by the thrones. They didn’t call them thrones, but what else do you call elevated chairs made of a precious material? The only marble we had was all stored away in the council’s stronghold, because it wasn’t found naturally anywhere in the mountains. At least, not proper white marble.

The councilors themselves sat rigidly in their seats. Their identities were a closely-guarded secret, and when on official business they always wore their thick green robes and white masks. Each mask was shaped in the likeness of a different animal to signify their different roles. A wolf’s head on the right, an owl on the left, and a goat in the center seat.

The guard behind me closed the doors to the chamber, and everything was silent. The council seemed content to wait for me to speak first. I gathered my wits, played over my opening statement one last time in my head, and spoke.

“My name is Gwyneth, and I am the chosen one of prophecy. It is my destiny to protect the kindred from our enemies. I stand before this council that I might be recognized, and given the tools I need to keep us safe.

“Morgan believes fervently that I am the subject of the prophecy. The scholars tell me that the stars are right, and that the signs are clear. The chosen one must stand in defense of the kindred, and I must do so with your authority.”

My mouth and throat were dry, and it wasn’t from dehydration. Getting those words out was a relief, but there was more to come. Statement, interrogation, deliberation, judgment.

The councilors whispered to each other from behind their masks. Too quiet for me to make out, but paranoia kept me from being too optimistic. Panic threatened to infiltrate my veneer of confidence and I acted quickly to suffocate it.

This is my destiny. I am the chosen one. They will see the truth. This is my destiny.

The councilors stood up. Councilor Capra, the goat-masked man, posed the first question. “You claim our people must be defended, but from who? From what? No beast can challenge us, and the kindred are a united community. What threatens us that would call for defensive measures?”

This was one of the questions I’d prepared for. I cleared my throat and said, “The prophecy is very clear about this, councilor. The threat to our civilization will not come from within the bounds of our world, but from beyond it. Our enemies will open the Gates and send their legions through.”

Councilor Ibis tilted her head. The owl-masked woman said, “Your prophecy seems to believe in the impossible. The Gates are broken. Inert. If reactivation was possible, it would have happened long ago.”

“Has anyone tried?” I felt a little smug at the moment of silence my question produced.

Councilor Lupa, the wolf-masked woman, waved her hand dismissively. Her voice was the only to seem affected by wearing a mask, coming out gravelly and warped where the others sounded smooth and clear. “The Gate is irrelevant. Outsiders or no, our world is harsh and there are still dangers. We’ve survived this long by being cautious and preparing for situations deemed unlikely. The question is, what do you offer? We have huntresses and huntsmen, night watchers and attendants. Why should you be treated any differently from them?”

“The prophecy-”

“No.” Councilor Lupa cut me off and shook her head. “Not all of this council thinks your cult’s religion has merit. Explain your value as a protector in material terms, or say nothing.”

I suppressed a growl. Somehow, her calling us a cult seemed worse than me calling us a cult. Most of my arguments related to the prophecy. I was the chosen one, and she wanted me to just ignore that? I took a deep breath and let it out as I restructured the argument in my head. It was difficult to excise mention of the prophecy entirely, but I could change the context of those references.

I said, “Councilor, regardless of your beliefs about the prophecy itself, you must understand that I wasn’t chosen randomly. I am the strongest and fastest warrior at the temple. I am the most determined. The fiercest. I know the most about sorcery, and I have the most adept grasp of its use.” The attendants in the room stiffened at the mention of sorcery. Outside the temple, it was only known through suspicion and fear. “I have been training all my life to lead our people against terrible foes, and I have led other warriors of the temple in combat exercises and scouting missions. None of your guards have that kind of experience.”

She nodded. “A fair assessment. I withdraw myself from further interrogation.” Councilor Lupa sat down, becoming just as stone-still as she had been when I entered.

That was a good sign. Hopefully.

Councilor Ibis put forth my next question. “Appointing a protector suggests there is a need for protection. Heightened militancy will breed fear in the general populace, unnecessary fear if no threat is lurking in the shadows. How do you justify creating that atmosphere? Are you willing to escalate the use of force for the sake of a prophesied threat that might not come to pass?”

Her question threw me. It was an angle I hadn’t considered at all. I hesitated for a moment, but I had to find a counterargument; I was not going to let my destiny slip away from me now.

The councilor noticed my hesitation and pressed the point. “Have you truly considered the consequences of the action you are proposing? Our communities are happy and peaceful. You intend to prepare them for a war that may never come. Do you understand the scars that will leave on our culture? Would you sacrifice the contentment of your neighbors at the altar of your vanity?”

“They’re my people too!” I cried out. “I’m not doing this for my ego, I’m doing this because it’s what I am meant to do. I am the chosen one, which means I have a responsibility to protect us all. If that protection casts a shadow, so be it. I’d rather people be a little more afraid than see them butchered by outsiders. Survival is worth a bit of stress.”

Councilor Ibis made a disapproving “Hmm,” and folded her arms, but inclined her head and said, “Very well. Suppose this threat is real. You spoke of authority in your statement, and leadership in your response to Councilor Lupa. Who would you lead? The mountains hold not the infrastructure to support an army, nor is there a surplus of bodies to form one. Would you recall huntresses and herdsmen to serve, or draft a militia on short notice? Consider the potential disruption to daily life from training time alone.”

My frustration started to ebb a little; this was another question I had a ready answer for. “The temple has an ample supply of warriors ready to serve the kindred. We have the armaments and stores, we have conviction for the cause, and our scholars have devised a schedule for establishing outposts and defenses.”

I stepped forward and made an earnest plea to her. “All I need is your word, and we can start the process of preparing every village for what’s coming. With your authority the temple can begin securing the Gates, setting traps, and building barricades. I can win this fight, but I need your support or the people won’t let us help them.”

She gave no sign of her thoughts. “I withdraw myself from further interrogation.” She sat, and then only Councilor Capra faced me.

I was feeling a little better now. Lupa had accepted my arguments, Ibis seemed open to them if not particularly impressed, and Capra’s first question had been easy to deal with. My destiny was within reach.

The councilor asked, “What evidence exists in favor of the prophecy’s validity?”

I recoiled. “What?!”

He repeated himself and I cut him off halfway through. “I heard you the first time. What do you mean, ‘what evidence’? My entire village believes in the prophecy. It has guided our every action. The prophecy is ancient. How can you question that?”

“How ancient is the prophecy?”

I stood there trying to think of an answer, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know. I’d never thought about it. I started opening and closing my mouth to try and encourage words to come out, but he raised a hand and I stopped.

“Please, Gwyneth, do not mistake my questioning for hostility. I have been to your temple and found it comforting. I have seen your warriors and found them fierce. I do not doubt your faith. I simply find it curious that there are no other sources to corroborate the prophecy’s claims. Perhaps I am misinformed. Let me ask you: have there been any other prophecies or visions in the past few decades?”

I slowly shook my head.

“In all the time since the Gates broke, has there been any activity documented at the cavern Gate?”

I shook my head again.

He spread his hands. “You see why, though I enjoy your village’s culture, I must maintain reasonable doubt at the words of the prophecy. You maintain a personal library, yes? I have heard it is the greatest collection of writing in all the mountains.”

I nodded hesitantly. Greatest might be overselling it, but it was sizable.

“In all the writing you have collected from our time and the time of the fallen empire, is there anything to support the prophecy?”

I found my tongue and started babbling. “Yes! No. Maybe. I… I can’t think of anything specific but there has to be something there. I have hundreds of books. At least a few thousand, and lots of miscellaneous works. I know there’s something in there from outside the temple’s body of work that agrees with the prophecy. There has to be.”

He nodded. “I hope so. I withdraw myself from further interrogation. We shall think on your words amongst ourselves.” He sat, and the council returned to whispering.

My head hurt. I felt exhausted, like I’d run up a three-kilometer cliff. All my practice and pacing hadn’t prepared me for trying to argue about philosophy and practicality with three people who did that every day as their job. I felt like I’d done a good job of representing myself, but it just seemed inadequate compared to all the counterarguments they’d drafted after only a few minutes of thinking over my proposal.

I wanted to go home to my library, curl up with my cat, and read something light and fluffy. I wanted to just not have to talk to anyone for at least a few hours. Instead, I dug my nails into my palms and waited for the council to make their decision.

After a few anxious minutes they stood up again. Time stood still.

Councilor Lupa said, “I vote in favor of Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

Councilor Ibis said, “I vote against Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

Councilor Capra opened his mouth to speak, and then the crystal growing out of the ceiling unleashed a surge of light that blinded everyone in the chamber.

When my vision came back to me, a ghost was standing in the middle of the room.

She was ethereal, the space behind her just barely visible through her pale skin. She wore a golden sash over a voluminous white dress, and everything about her outfit seemed subtly antiquated. The ghost had a worn face, and steady eyes. She looked wary.

The ghost woman shook her head at me, then turned to the council and said, “The ancestor spirits have taken notice of this court and have concerns. It is our collected belief that Gywneth and her cultists should not be handed power, and their prophecy should not be respected in this hall. She is not of sound mind, and they are not of sound belief.”

Her voice shook with power, and I stood stiff as the shock washed over me.

The ancestor spirits are the ghosts of the dead, our dearly departed relatives. All ancestor spirits, weak or strong, coherent or mad, take their rest in the crystal Ossuary on the ceiling of the council chamber. They whisper to the council in private, and impart wisdom when asked. But an ancestor spirit only ever appears in person once in a lifetime.

And one had just denounced my faith, my destiny, and me personally. I got angry.

I walked straight through the ghost and whirled around to face her, pointing my finger in her face. “Who are you to make that call? I didn’t hear the council ask for your input, dead woman.”

She glared at me coldly and said, “I am Vesta, oldest of the ancestors. I brought our people from the fallen empire and saved the kindred. I built this council, and I have advised it for centuries. You are a brash, headstrong youth with an arrogant streak just shy of becoming narcissism. Step aside and let the adults talk.”

I wanted to punch the stupid dead woman in her stupid dead face. “You sound like every decrepit, blind bag of bones envious of the next generation. I will not let you take my destiny from me.”

“Gwyneth.” Lupa called my name with enough emphasis to make me turn and look at her, but it wasn’t sharp enough to be a reprimand. “We will hear her case. Do not sabotage yourself by giving her ammunition.”

I dug my nails even harder into my palms, and this time I drew blood. It was enough to give me a bit of clarity, and I reluctantly stepped aside.

Vesta nodded to the council and stepped forward. “My esteemed successors, you know that I only appear when the subject is of grave importance. The ancestors have spoken amongst ourselves, and we do not make this decision lightly. Gwyneth cannot become the kindred’s protector. Her cult cannot become the kindred’s army.

“We have traveled these paths before. It was pride then, and prophecy now. These precautions against violence lead only to an escalation of violence. There is no room for militarization in our culture. Make no mistake; handing such power to the temple would only be the beginning.”

Furious denials and heated accusations tried to claw their way up my throat, but I just barely kept myself under control and fumed in silence.

The councilors looked at each other and hesitated for a few moments, but they didn’t converse. Lupa was the first to grow a spine.

“The girl is strong and devout. I don’t care about the temple’s prophecy, but they would do a great service to our people. I think they’re genuine about wanting to help, and I think Gwyn would make a good protector.”

Vesta shook her head. “There is no need for a protector. There is no prophecy, no threat, no conflict but that which she would bring in blind pursuit of power. The kindred have survived by setting aside the trappings of war. We cannot return to the old ways. We cannot tolerate a new empire.”

I lost my temper again and snapped, “I don’t want an empire, I just want to protect my people!”

The ghost shot back, “So said Aurelius at the Sack of Garac, three months before she donned a crown. Power corrupts.”

I had feelings, but I didn’t have words. There was this burning red ball of hate and fury growing larger and larger, and I didn’t know how to express it. Every word out of her stupid dead mouth fed the fire. She was wrong, but I didn’t know how to prove it, didn’t know how to tell everyone. My tongue was useless. My vocal chords were useless. I was useless.

Vesta returned her attention to the council and said, “You have heard the advice of your ancestors. Please, heed it. Her prophecy is nonsense, her temple is militant, and her temper is dangerous. Do not let her ruin what we have built.”

Then she was gone, and my hands were still clenched fists.

Capra looked down at his feet for a long moment, and then he raised his head and said, “It is with regret that I vote against Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

It was over. I lost.

I threw open the doors and stormed out of the council chamber before they could say anything else, and I marched right past Finn without a word.

How dare they? How dare they deny me my birthright? How dare they take the word of a ghost over mine?

“Gwyn!” Finn chased after me, calling my name. I kept ignoring him; my strides were longer than his, and he wasn’t the type to run in a place like this.

I picked up speed as I stomped through the long entry hall of the council’s ridiculous little cave. My hatred built with every step, and everything around me blurred into vague shapes and colors: brown below me, slate to either side, and little spots of orange. The ostentatious double-doors leading out of the stronghold were the only thing in focus, my singular objective.

The council’s precious attempt at a door guard turned to look at me as I approached. I shoved him aside and threw open the doors. The hot summer wind greeted me and carried the scent of sea salt.

“Hey!” The absolute idiot of a guard grabbed my arm and I whirled on him with a withering glare.

I got up in his face and growled. “Don’t get in my way.”

He curled his lip with unbearable smugness. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

I lost the last of my restraint and took a few steps back.

I reached inside myself, felt that burning core of anger, and shoved it out of my hands as sorcerous lightning.

The guard screamed as crackling red light arced across his body. He sank to his knees and I poured more of my anger into the magic. All of my hatred and fury went surging into the insolent whelp who had dared mock me, transforming into a miles-deep well of pain and suffering that tore into his nerves and brain. I pushed it further, wanting to see him collapse from the pain, wanting to see him suffer like I had suffered, wanting everyone to know my pain. A twisted, toothy smile etched itself across my face.

Finn shook my shoulders and shouted, “Gwyn! Enough, stop!”

The lightning flickered and died, and I stood there numb. All of the anger started to drain out of me, and I stared at the man lying on the ground with a heaving chest and an exhausted, scared look in his eyes. I didn’t know his name.

Finn knelt by the guard and started inspecting him for damages. I waved my hand and mumbled, “He’s… sorcery can’t injure, it just hurts. A lot.”

I didn’t feel good. There was a pit in my stomach, my adrenaline rush had turned to sickly withdrawal, and I just wanted to run and hide and not have to think about what had just happened.

What have I… no, what have they done?

I choked out, “I’m sorry,” and then I started running.

“Gwyn!”

I slowed down long enough to look back at Finn and say, “I just… I need some time to think.” Then I was running again, and gone.

It was the morning of my special day, and I was being squeezed into the most uncomfortable set of ceremonial armor the chantry had.

Don’t get me wrong, the armor looked nice, but it was clearly designed more for luxury than practicality. Too much gilding, too big epaulets. Even the battle skirt felt heavier than it should have.

When it was finally done being fitted and I was finally done complaining, I had the chance to admire myself in a full body mirror. I looked dashing. Stunning, even. A sleek and intimidating warrior. I looked like the chosen one, I had to admit.

Finn was there, trying not to laugh at my misfortune. And of course Morgan was there to oversee the whole thing. The head of the chantry couldn’t allow any detail of the day to be off-kilter.

“Well, despite your whining, the task is done and you look mildly presentable.”

“If by ‘mildly presentable’ you mean ‘intimidatingly gorgeous’ then I agree,” I snarked back at him.

He rolled his eyes and dismissed the outfitter. “And that brings me to the next topic: you need some advice on public speaking before we put you before the Council.”

I gave him a look. “Really? I’m the chosen one. Isn’t that enough for them?”

“You know it isn’t. This meeting is important, Gwyn. It will decide all our fates. We have to convince the Council that we are necessary, and that you are necessary. If we fail, it could mean the end of the chantry, and thus, the world.”

I sighed. “Right. So what problem do you have with the way I do things today?”

“Your snark, Gwyn. The Council won’t find it amusing like your sparring partners do. There’s more to it than that, but I think our guest can explain better than I can.”

“Guest?” I quirked an eyebrow.

Morgan led me out of the changing room and through the twisting corridors of the chantry until we emerged in the high-ceilinged central hall of the chantry. Priests and warriors milled about from place to place and attendants adjusted art along the walls.

Near the entryway, a masked woman was waiting. She wore black, and her mask was wolf-like. She moved with lithe swiftness towards us. Her voice was distorted, rough, like heard through water.

“Ah. The esteemed chosen one, and her entourage. I’m Councilor Lupa. I suspect you’ve heard of me?”

Of course I had. The Council only consisted of three people: Lupa, Capra, and Ibis. The holders of those roles changed every so often, but the masks were distinctive, and the names always the same.

“Let’s talk somewhere private, yes? Morgan won’t be needed for this conversation.”

I smirked a little, and Morgan graciously swept away from us to attend other matters. Finn and I led Lupa to a side room that was out of the way, largely soundproof, and had doors that could lock.

“So,” I said, “What’s this about? Morgan criticized my snark, but I don’t think a Councilor would show up just to curb a bit of sarcasm.”

She nodded. “There are grander matters than attitude involved in what you’re about to do.”

I scowled. “This whole fuss is so ridiculous. I’m the chosen one, and the chantry is going to save the kindred from our enemies. What’s to have a meeting about?”

Sharply, Lupa said, “Everything. My colleagues and I are skeptical of your claims. Of your chantry. This meeting will determine whether we, as a Council, believe you are what you say you are. If it goes well, the whole island calls you chosen one and we let your chantry handle preparations for this war you claim is on the horizon. But if you fail to convince us, the chantry will slink back into hiding and you will have no prestige, no power.”

My scowl deepened. “I see.”

“I’m not your opponent, Gwyn, but I’m not on your side, either. I’m doing this as a favor to Morgan, and because I think the chantry’s military would be… useful, to the Council’s interests. You need to have at least a basic grasp of diplomacy, to keep up with the debate.”

“Isn’t Morgan going to do most of the talking? I’m just there to look impressive.”

“Not quite. While your high priest will handle all the basic arguments, you are still required to participate. The Council will field you questions, try to trip you up. You are Morgan’s vulnerability, a warrior with no experience in debate. They – by which I mean ‘we’ – will attempt to gauge your merits as a champion, as a general, as a leader.”

“I can lead. Any warrior of the chantry will tell them that.”

“That is insufficient. We must know your mind, your belief, your knowledge. Are you willing to prepare? Or is this a waste of my time?”

The question hung in the air. I wanted to be spiteful. I wanted to protest this entire thing. But I already had. Doing any more wouldn’t help me become chosen one.

I sighed. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

“The first item is simple: avoid too much mention of the chantry and its activities. If you must, focus on the aid you provide, and the good you’ve done. Stick to emotional appeals and don’t discuss details.”

Finn frowned. “Wait, why? What problem does the Council have with us?”

Lupa glanced at him – as much as she could, through her mask – and said, “To your priests and your followers, the chantry is a beacon of hope. To some, the chantry is dangerous. You receive tithe. You field a military force. You collect wealth and food in a central fortress, and you are lead by an elite caste. Priest, that is called feudalism.”

That agitated Finn. “What? No, we do good work. We’re good people.”

“That is irrelevant. The fact remains that you have built a power structure here, one sustained by the work of the common folk. Look at your halls, your art and shrines. This place is opulent compared to much of the island, and that is thanks to the tithe you receive.”

Lupa glanced back at me and added, “You should call them donations, by the way. Never tithe. Makes it sound nicer, more community-focused.”

Finn was still worrying it over, but I just nodded.

She continued, “Stay away from faith. I know religion is important to your chantry, but it isn’t one shared by most of the island, and the Council will not appreciate it being leveraged as an argument. Yes, your prophecy is a core part of the case being made, but you must reframe it. This is a delicate matter.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’d say it’s more than important. It kind of builds the foundation for this whole place. Hard to avoid it.”

“Yes. As I said, it is not about avoidance so much as framing. Instead of saying you support a war of prophecy, say you support a chantry-backed militia and common sense defenses. In practice, those policies will be the same, but one is a much easier to sell to someone outside your faith.”

Finn butted in, “So you want her to lie. Or, should I be saying, ‘tactically obfuscate the truth’.”

“Do you want to be honest, or do you want to accomplish the chantry’s goals?”

He had nothing to say to that, and just slumped against the nearest wall.

I motioned for Lupa to continue. “Donations, common sense precautions, and stay away from religion. What else?”

“My colleagues, they disagree on much. When Ibis presses you, emphasize that the chantry will shoulder the burden for this task, and tell her that you will do everything in your power to keep the citizenry calm. When Capra presses you, focus on details like the raider threat and the rough history of our people. Take Morgan’s lead, but avoid parroting him. Think you can handle all that?”

I nodded, slowly. “Hopefully. I think I understand most of it, at least. I’m as ready as I’ll be.”

“Good.” Lupa rose. “This meeting never happened. I look forward to meeting you for the first time tomorrow.”

I grinned bemusedly at her as she swept away, leaving me alone with Finn. “Well, that was interesting.”

Finn shook his head. “One word for it. Do you feel comfortable lying to the Council like this? I wouldn’t.”

I shrugged. “What’s the harm? If it gets us closer to our goals, I’m up for just about anything. This is important, Finn. The good we’ll do with Council backing far outweighs a few white lies.”

He sighed. “If you say so, boss.”

I told him to cheer up, he refused, and we ate lunch. A few folks congratulated me (prematurely, but properly), and I didn’t see any sign of Duncan in the banquet hall, which vaguely disappointed me.

Morgan came and found us as I was finishing my meal.

“Ah, good, you’ve eaten. Let’s go.”

A coach was prepared, and we rode through the countryside. Green fields, blue sky, and distant mountains. We stopped at one village and I gave them a fake smile while Morgan discussed boring administrative details.

It only took two hours to reach Haven, but they were an incredibly boring two hours, and I spent most of it reading. Relics of the fallen empire were a hobby of mine, and I’d recently found a neat little travel journal in decent condition.

At long last we arrived. The township of Haven was a quaint little affair, a cluster of rickety buildings kneeling in the shadow of the sky-slicing mountain that housed the Council’s parliament. A faithful local was happy to put us up for the night, that we might rest before the morrow’s meeting.

I spent the first half of the night listening to Morgan stress, mutter to himself, and rehearse his lines. Finn slept, like some kind of sensible person. Eventually I crawled onto a free bed too. A part of me felt vague worry, but I dismissed it.

I’m the chosen one. Nothing can possibly go wrong.

I slept.

“Name’s Gwyn. I’m the chosen one.”

The raider eyed me skeptically in response, which was unfortunate for him and infuriating for me. I ducked underneath the swing of his oafish ax and swung a leg out to trip him. He obliged.

“You know, hero of prophecy? I’m a big deal, okay. I refuse to believe you haven’t heard of me; everybody’s heard of me.” I folded my arms (careful not to poke myself with my own sword) and scowled down at him.

A bit of burning thatch fell between us and I remembered I had a job to do. The whole village was on fire, or at least most of it. Being right on the coast made the fires easy to put out, but first someone (me) had to clean up the pesky idiots who’d set the fire; preferably before they made off with a small treasure of fish and seaborne salvage.

The raider grunted, lurched to his feet, and made another overcommitment of a lunge, though this time he had the decency to swing low. I sidestepped his strike, fed my irritation at his disrespect into a ball of fury, and blasted him with red lightning.

Crimson light danced across his skin and cast his face in a hellish glow. He stumbled into the nearest wall (which nearly fell on him) and screamed his pain to the world. I admired my handiwork and let the lightning flicker and fade from my fingertips; there were raiders more deserving of it, after all. I let my rage slip back below the surface of my thoughts and casually executed him with a single swing.

I saw my patrol partner, Gavin, dueling a raider over a sack of plunder, while a second bandit stumbled back to her friends, nursing her wounds. The village militia (all four of them) were poking spears in the vague direction of the raiders, three of whom were loading plunder into their boat as fast as they could. One glanced at me nervously.

I smirked in response, then leveled my attentions at the fleeing scoundrel. She was bleeding, and she’d dropped her weapon. Easy prey; she’d make a strong message to these thieves.

I pointed at her, spread my fingers, and again channeled my anger. I remembered the fly that had bit me that morning, and I remembered the annoying drudgery of standing around for hours, and I remembered an argument I’d lost (unfairly) a week ago. Anger came easily, a deep well that I’d carefully cultivated, a font of power groomed for a purpose.

I turned my anger into magic, and shoved it out of my body as more searing-red lightning. Sorcery, the art of agony. Unrivaled suffering ripping through my target. Harmless to the flesh, but very, very disorienting.

I sprinted for the raider woman and ran her through before she had the chance to grit her teeth and power through the pain. Behind me, I heard Gavin finish off his opponent.

I found the raider who’d noticed me before, and I held his gaze as their ship slowly drifted away from the village, laden with stolen goods (though not as many as they’d have liked). I put a boot on the back of the dead woman, and pointed my sword at him. I saw the fear in his eyes, and I smiled.

They wouldn’t be coming back.

The chantry arrived not long after to help the hamlet recover. They set up a tent for the wounded, stamped out the last of the fires, and offered blankets and soup for the weary. This wasn’t the first coastal raid, and it wouldn’t be the last; everyone knew their role.

My role was to sit back and relax after a long day of being the chosen one. I sat on a slightly-singed bench and rifled through the pockets of the raider woman I’d killed. Gavin noticed my rifling and sauntered over.

“Find anything good, magpie?” He knew my quirks as well as anyone from the chantry.

“Not so far,” I said as I tossed aside a pouch of coin and an unremarkable whetstone. Her pockets were meager, but I noticed a glint of something metallic around her slowly-cooling neck and brushed aside a bit of hair. “Shiny!” She had an iridescent black rock threaded into a necklace. I slipped it off her and rolled the rock around between my fingers.

Gavin was skeptical of my find. “It’s a rock.”

“It’s pretty, and now it’s mine.”

“Right. Well, I’m going to go help do some rebuilding. Enjoy your rock.” He gave me an amused wave and joined some villagers and chantry folk working to put a door back in place.

I fiddled with my trinket for a few more minutes before slipping it into a skirt pocket and getting up to go wander.

I saw Morgan speaking with someone from the village, and Finn ducking into the medic tent, and Duncan dragging a net in from the shore.

She looked happy about it, too. Duncan was chatting up a local and making little consoling gestures as she trudged her way through the sand. She dropped off the net and whatever was in it with another villager, and nodded at something he said. She turned around, and our eyes met.

She froze, her face took on an unreadable expression, and she hurriedly turned away and looked for another menial task to perform.

I was still having trouble changing my internal concept of Duncan from ‘rival’ to… well, that was half the problem. If she wasn’t my competitor, who was she? A part of me felt like I shouldn’t bother thinking about her anymore. And yet… I couldn’t stop. She’d consumed my thoughts for so long that it was impossible to just stop noticing her and the things she did.

With an effort of will I wrenched my gaze away from her. I distracted myself by meandering towards Morgan and eavesdropping on his conversation.

“Don’t worry,” he assured the villager, “everything will be back in order before you know it. But please, take it easy for a few days, and skip tithe this month. Right now what’s most important is the wellbeing of your village.”

The villager looked worried. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want the chantry to suffer for our losses, after all you’ve done to help.”

Morgan held up a hand. “I insist. It’s for the good of us all that your village recovers and prospers.” He smiled benevolently. “If you feel that isn’t enough, you can always visit the chantry for a sermon. We’ll be glad for the audience, and for the company.”

Relief passed over the villager, which turned to a mix of gratitude and awe when they caught sight of me. “Chosen one! Thank you, thank you dearly for driving off those raider scum. You were magnificent.”

I smirked. I was, wasn’t I? “I don’t think they’ll be coming back any time soon.” I let a bit of red lightning arc between my fingers. “Sorcery has that kind of effect on people.” I dismissed my magic and shot Morgan a smug look.

He hid his annoyance well, but I could see it in the way his wrinkles shifted. “Yes, chosen, excellent work. I look forward to hearing all about it later.”

That was his way of telling me to shove off and let him take care of business. I graciously obliged and drifted away from him in search of Finn.

My best friend wasn’t exactly hard to find; where else would a healer be but the medical tent? I strolled inside and swept up beside him, clasping him on the shoulder. He was in his healer’s robes, hunched over a man on a cot.

“Buddy, pal! How go the ministrations?”

Finn wobbled a little under my weight, but kept his hands steady as they passed over a glistening red gash on a villager’s arm. His hands glowed forest-green, and they hovered centimeters away from the gouge without touching flesh.

He gritted his teeth and replied, “They were going better before you showed up.” He gently pulsed a few more bursts of green light at the wound, which stopped bleeding and began to extremely slowly close. He sighed. “Alright, you’re good to go. Don’t use that arm much for a day, but after that it’ll be fine.”

The villager thanked him profusely, stared at me with reverence, and then scampered off to do whatever.

Finn wiped his hands (which were already clean) and said, “What do you want now, Gwyn? I’m busy, and your talents aren’t particularly helpful in this setting.” He gestured to the two other wounded lying on cots. “Unless you plan on torturing the ax injuries closed?”

“While a tempting offer, I’m still testing those capabilities on rats.” I grinned, and my beaming face was infectious enough to wear him down and produce a good-natured eye-roll in response.

“Well, thanks for not making more work for me. Listen, I’ll be done here shortly, and then we can go do whatever you’d like without any distractions. But please, let me focus on healing.”

I sighed dramatically and tossed my hair. “Fine. But you owe me a sugary treat. Of the pastry variety.”

“Deal. Now scurry.” He shooed me away with a wry smile and I strutted out of his tent and into the open air.

The smoke scent was starting to fade, which I found regrettable. I liked woodsmoke. It was a nice change from the endless sea salt breeze and the chantry’s incenses. Maybe it just reminded me of fire.

I went for a walk.

The beach sand was the color of crushed pearl, washed smooth by steady tides. The evening’s cloudy light cast the water gray. The black and red of my outfit was the only splash of color along the entirety of the coast, and even then it was overshadowed by my skin and hair, which were about the same shade of white as the sand.

When I got to a good spot, I knelt by the water and started cleaning my sword. I really should have done that earlier, but my gluttony for trinkets got the better of me. I used a dirty rag to wipe off the blood, new spots added to the aged collection soaked into the cloth.

I was going to miss this. No, that wasn’t true. Intimidating cheap raiders was fun, and seeing the looks of awe on villager faces was rewarding, but there was something missing. Something gnawing at me, quietly but steadily. I wanted more.

I was meant for greatness. I had a destiny, a great and glorious role to fulfill. I was the chosen one. Two days, and I’d finally get to embrace that destiny. No more tiny little villages. No more tiny little conflicts. There was a war out there waiting for me. A chance to etch my name into the world’s foundations. A chance to be what I was always meant to be.

I noticed myself washing the same spot for a third time, and put my sword away with a sigh. I was impatient. I knew that. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to ignore that itching under my skin. Being closer than ever before just made the anticipation worse.

Nervousness was unbecoming of me. I was too talented, too powerful, and too pretty to be nervous about anything. When people saw me, they had to fight the urge to kneel. I was the chosen one, and the whole world knew that, even those arrogant raiders trying to play coy.

And yet… I wasn’t the only one stressing about this. I could feel that anxious energy in the air every time I walked though the chantry’s halls. I could see it in the way Morgan slouched whenever he thought nobody was looking, and I could see it in the way Gavin and the other warriors threw themselves into training every chance they got.

Our purpose was approaching, and even the most fervent were afraid of failure. After all, our whole world was at stake.

For some reason, that didn’t bother me as much. Maybe I just couldn’t conceive of a world where I lost. Maybe I just believed we could overcome any tragedy. Or maybe being the chosen one was just more important to me than what came with it.

It didn’t bear thinking about too deeply, so I didn’t. I made my way back to the village and joined the chantry folk as they returned to the fortress.