“No need. I have the Wita's recording.” Seiken produced the parchment from his pocket, placing it upon the table with great restraint.
“He didn't forge the crystals?” Crystal tears were the optimum way to record prophecy in its purest form. When the predictions were spoken it fell to a sage to harvest the blood shed and forge it into a solid state by archaic rituals. Doing so was the sole means to record an enduring and truly accurate transcript of what had been spoken.
“I thought it would be too much to ask of him. It pains him almost as much as it does myself.” Rowmeow edged forwards as the parchment unfurled before him. His eyes flickered across the scrawl. His body tensed, visibly recoiling as he read the second prophecy she had spoken. An involuntary hiss escaped him, and that hiss
