“Forget?” Bartholomew chewed on his lower lip, thinking. “Forget what?”
“The Prophecy. Our purpose. Our wonder.”
“How can people forget that? It’s like built in when you’re created,” Alex said.
“Exactly why it is so vexing. All Artanians are born with the knowledge. Yet it is as if a great white swath were being painted over people’s minds.”
Peering at the quiet avenue below, Bartholomew thought over other Artanian journeys. Ever since he’d met Alex in sixth grade, the two of them had battled to keep this mystical land safe. The Prophecy foretold how they’d enter Artania when they turned eleven, saying,
“On the eleventh year of their lives.
“On the eleventh year of their lives.They will join together like single forged knives.
They will join together like single forged knives.Their
