“Prophecies don’t shape the future. They warn of the choices we haven’t realized we’re already making.”
The room was dim, the flickering candlelight barely pushing back the darkness. The scent of parchment and ink clung to the air, heavy with the weight of forgotten knowledge.
The old seer sat before me, her frail hands smoothing over the brittle edges of a scroll that looked older than Verauno itself.
Her voice, when she finally spoke, sent a chill through my bones.
"Verauno will fall from within."
I stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes—clouded, unreadable—pierced through me as if she could see straight into my soul.
"The betrayal will not come from an enemy’s hand," she murmured, her fingers tracing the ancient symbols inked onto the parchment. "It will come from one meant to p
