“Sorry I was out of it last night, Reep.” Max said the next morning over breakfast.

“Its alright, I understand. Did you get the spell?” She asked.

“Yes! I can teleport from here to the city’s wall with an inconsequential amount of mana. But enough about me, how did your session go?”

“It went… well…” Reep hesitantly said. “I’m not really sure.”

“Well, what did they say? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Mr Ralpho said I have pent up emotions and long-lasting memory scarring.”

“Memory scarring?” Max asked unfamiliar with the term.

“He said ‘a traumatic past can affect the mind in many ways, most of which will only harm’. Does that help?” Reep said.

“Sounds like PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. Sorry, I don’t really know how to help you with that. I never had to suffer through anything like this…”

“I understand. You have done more for me than I ever deserve. I will be eternally grateful.”

“Reep, we talked about this. I only did what was right and you deserve a lot more than you ever will know. Does Mr Ralpho have any treatments?”

“He said to find a creative hobby.”

“Like learning an instrument or painting?”

Reep nodded, “My mother used to paint…”

“Come on,” Max said standing from the table. “Celenia and Belopi should be ready to go soon. We can stop by an art supplies store on the way back.”

Reep smiled.

Sky’s Deep was originally a mountain outpost. A heavily fortified and rather isolated place, the fortress soon became home to many Dwarven refugees after the fall of their capital. It took many years, but eventually Sky’s Deep became the centralized hub for the entirety of the Ire Mountain range. Its harsh environment paired with the massive mountain it was built into, made the outpost an important passage for any traveling caravan or [Merchant]. The city soon became the middle point of any route through the mountains.

Among other things, Sky’s Deep was home to many of the world’s best [Blacksmiths], [Leatherworkers], and other [Crafters]. Many came from far and wide in hopes to commission extravagant dresses, protective armor and shields, and the sharpest swords. The city flourished quickly finding its own political power and economic importance. Many [Historians] would conclude that the downfall of Hifdil, the Dwarven capital, launched the continent of Salarin into new heights.

Whether it was forgotten traditions or new leadership, the Dwarfs that inhabited the mountain sought to bring outsiders into their lands rather than push them away like their forefathers. One such attraction was the Prophet of the Mountain. A Dwarven man who became regarded as the World’s Most Powerful [Diviner] due to foretelling the prophecy of Ki’nidra. After his claim to fame, he made other predictions and omens, all of which turned out to be accurate. Soon many sought out his advice, paying with outrageous patronage and magical items.

The Chamber of the Prophet was nothing less than opulent. Silks and multi-count threads lined every wall and pillar creating large draping arches that moved with the subtle air flow, creating illusionary focal points and radiant lighting. Gold and white plated tiles filled the walking area while dark grey and reds pulled focus into the upper levels where many balconies and windows laid. A single massive double door rested in the center of a reinforced wall in the center of the chamber. Many attendants and guards stood before the door allowing certain visitors in while dissuading others.

The system for who was seen and who was cast away fell only to The Prophet. He alone knew what he saw, and he alone was allowed to dictate who he shared that information with. If he felt the information to be sensitive or not in his favor, he would simply pass the opportunity to and let events play our or change the future in minute ways. He created and cemented friendships, partnerships, and many favors over the years, all of which added to his eminence fame.

The journey from Lesterwood to Sky’s Reach was long, slow, and boring. The closest gate was near the bottom of the mountain and since the wilderness was intentionally culled, that left Clammy and Bishop in a state of melancholy. Both had grown used to the fast-paced lifestyle of Lesterwood and Esmel. Simply traveling up a mountain was abnormally safe compared to city life. But eventually they made it to Sky’s Deep. The gate into the city was completely unique. Since the city needed no actual walls, the gate was only a cutout that led into the hollowed-out mountain. Statues of Dwarves stood along the long walk-up leading into the gate, creating a flow of pride and spirited faith. Faith in making sure nothing like what happened to Hifdil would happen again and pride in the creation of a better land.

Walking through the city reminded Clammy of home. Of Salae. Crowded streets and alleyways paired with rare and unique sights along with people of many different cultural backgrounds. Tribes and clans mixed with outshoots and normal citizens created an atmosphere that was as welcoming as it was intimidating. Clammy honestly thought that Salae had nothing on Sky’s Deep in terms of tone. Salae had slums and crime but Sky’s Deep didn’t have any of that. Their leaders cared to much for something as lowly as poverty to ruin their precious city. Even The Prophet and his mountains of gold knew this, and many donations were made in his name.

It was late when they arrived, and they decided it would be best to visit The Prophet in the morning. A nightmare paired with many rapid-fire questions from Bishop later, the duo went to see the mystical man of the mountain. The two stood on the periphery of the Chamber watching the crowd. It was unlike anything they had ever seen. Shoulder to shoulder people pushed and shoved hoping to make it to the massive door. A fool’s dream.

“Well, I can safely say that there were not this many people the last time I was here.” Bishop said in awe as more people joined the fray.

“What do we do? How are we supposed to get to the front of that? I don’t think the security would like it very much if I simply hovered over the crowd.” Clammy replied.

“Don’t use any magic while we are here. They are very picky about that…” Bishop hummed for a minute looking around. “Last time I was here, someone came to me. I thought-“

“You thought correct, Arc Flash Bishop.” A voice called from behind the pair.

A Dwarven woman plaid in silks and threads of similar colors to the Chamber stood with poise and confidence. She was short, much like all Dwarves, but she conveyed a feeling of power. One that told all before her not to hassle her or they may come to regret it.

“Amber.” Bishop said. “How great it is to see you. I hope you are doing well.”

“Yes, thanks to you actually. Since your last visit things have only, well” She gestures to the crowd. “You can see for yourself.”

“Indeed, indeed. I take it your presence means we can speak with The Prophet.”

“Yes. Clammy of Lesterwood and Arc Flash Bishop, please follow me.” Amber bowed once, spun on her heels, and walked away from the massive door. The two others followed.

The room Amber led them to was small and private. There were similar rooms were on either side and each had their own occupants. Clammy half expected an extravagant throne room where The Prophet would take petitions. Instead, she found the small room very fitting. Having experienced the lack of privacy a throne room had firsthand, she already began to differentiate her parents and The Prophet. Sure, both had power and wealth unmatched by most of their peers and enemies, but the latter showed a sense of delicacy the royals just didn’t think about.

Many prophecies or visions could be considered secretive. Telling someone they were about to die, or they were going to win a war was simply asking for trouble. [Maids], [Guards], and [Servants] were all people at the end of the day and secretes always had a price. The room itself could fit ten, but it would be a slight squeeze. Clammy assumed this was to limit [Dignitaries] or powerful individuals from entering with an entire squadron of [Bodyguards]. She knew from experiences that people often looked poorly upon the messenger of dreadful news.

Small runes were carved into the door frame and along the shared walls, Bishop declared them as privacy wards after Amber left them alone. The two sat in silence for what felt like forever. They each tried to start up conversation, but the situation left both of them somewhat unnerved. Each looked forward to what The Prophet had to say, but each knew that the answer they may get might not be the one they are looking for. Suddenly the wards around the room flickered and faded, signifying they were turned off. The sound of disembodied voices filled the room.

“Are you sure this room is private? I’ve never seen wards like this.” A distinctively male voice said.

“Of course!” An almost flamboyant voice answered. “Only the very best for my clients… [Royal Sergeant] Jell.”

Clammy’s eyes widened. Jell, she thought, what is he doing here? Should he not be searching… for… me… Her realization seemed to translate to Bishop, who moved closer to the respective wall the voices were pouring through.

“For what reason do you seek my guidance?” The flamboyant voice asked.

“You know very well, Prophet, otherwise we wouldn’t be here, now, would we?” Jell’s voice asked.

“You seek information of the missing royal heiress.” The Prophet said. “Wise to come to me for such… wisdom… The price will be high, but nothing your dignified god won’t be able to pay.”

“Do not mock their highnesses, deceiver!” A third voices quickly yelled, only for Jell to silence them.

“Forgive my subordinate, he knows not how to act in situations like this… He will be reprimanded for this outburst.” Jell told The Prophet.

“Indeed, I’ve already seen it. I especially like the outcome. It will serve your military well.” An awkward silence filled the air before The Prophet added. “Do not worry, I act out of charity in this situation. No payment needed.”

“Thank you… Sir… Do you know where Bella Salae is? Is she safe? My [King] and [Queen] will pay the price.”

“Bella Salae… Hmm… No, I think not, well not Bella Salae at least. She goes by a different name now, and she is perfectly safe… In this moment at least…”

“What name does she go by? Where is she? What do you mean ‘in this moment’?” Jell asked in a hurried tone.

“Calm yourself, [Sergeant]. The answers will come.” The Prophet went silent for a moment. “For her name, I will not say. For her location I will only say that she is closer than you think. And for her safety… She is stronger than you think or remember, her being in danger is nothing new and nothing to worry about.”

“Closer than we think?” Jell asked. “Does that mean she is still in Salae?”

The Prophet said nothing.

“Why not give us her name? Does that matter so much? We will pay!”

“Payment is no issue here. Her name will not be given. She does not wish to be found, and I respect those wishes. Simple as that.”

“But you told us that she is closer than we think! You already gave us a hint!” Jell yelled.

“Yes, but you will not find her. My answer is simply a way for you to understand that she is safe. In danger, yes, but safe.”

“How can she be in danger but safe!?”

“Maybe she is in no danger when you are not actively looking for her? Perhaps she will run in to danger when she smells your scent…” The Prophet didn’t seem to care about Jell’s increasingly impatient tone. Instead, he talked in the same carefree and whimsical way.

“You will not tell us where she is?” Jell asked after a few minutes.

“Correct. Only that she is safe.”

“But she’s not safe, at least she won’t be.”

The Prophet stayed silent.

“There is nothing else you will tell us?” Jell asked and when nothing was said he added, “Thank you for your time, Prophet, you will receive your payment soon.”

“I know.” The Prophet said. With that the wards in Clammy and Bishop’s room flickered on. They both looked to each other, uncertain of what to say.

Clammy was thankful for The Prophet’s intervention. His hint about her location gave her pause but Jell seemed to misunderstand and play right into his hand. All in all, it was apparent to her that The Prophet purposely wanted her to hear his discussion. Bishop thought the same, but his age and experience told him that there was a reason The Prophet didn’t tell Jell anything. Soon enough, the door to the room swung open and a rather out of place Dwarf walked in. He wore plain pants and a brown tabard. He had a large untrimmed beard, and he was shoeless. If Clammy knew better, she would have assumed the man to be homeless on account of the dirt and grime on the man’s skin and clothes. Bishop stood causing Clammy to follow suit.

“Prophet.” Bishop spoke. “It has been too long. I see you are doing well for yourself.”

“Indeed… Thanks to you actually… But enough about the past, tell me why you are here. I will do my best to answer, free of charge of course.” The Prophet closed the door and slide into the cushioned seat. It was only then that Clammy saw his eyes, they were entirely grey and shriveled. From how the others described her eyes when she saw visions, she assumed they shared in the same symptom of loss of vision. But that led to the question of why his eyes were remaining grey.

“Before we begin, I would like to know why you allowed us to listen in on your conversation with Jell.” Bishop said.

“I have no idea what you mean.” The Prophet fluttered his eyelashes.

“In that case you know why we are here, to help Clammy understand her class and bloodline. Can you help?”

“Indeed.”

“I see… Clammy do you want to start?”

Clammy nodded and adjusted her posture. “My first question is about your eyes.”

“My eyes? Hmm… Unexpected but not unknow…” The Dwarf muttered. “Very well. I see the future constantly. My old eyes have long since been gone, I am essentially blind to what is in front of me.”

“But you can move and interact? My visions cause me to become almost comatose like.”

“I… Used to have similar experiences. But as my proficiency in my class rose, I found myself being able to… affect them somewhat.”

“Affect them? You can change the future just from seeing it?” Clammy asked.

“No, no. Of course not, I can affect how I view the vision. If I wish to ignore one, I can. If I wish to rewatch one I can.”

“But how?”

“For that… I cannot say. I have seen three main future branches all stemming from this moment and this meeting. The first: I told you my secret and you slowly grow into power, but my way is flawed. Your class and your bloodline affect my technique in ways I couldn’t see. You eventually go mad and kill most of Lesterwood.”

Bishop and Clammy’s eyes went wide. They both tried to speak up, but The Prophet held up his hand, silencing them.

“The second: I don’t tell you my secret. You do not spiral into madness, and you do not destroy a city. From here, the branch is… Murky… I do not know if you master your gift or fail like many before you, but between the two I like this version better.”

They were silent. Each pondered his words not understanding or understanding too much. Bishop had an idea of how The Prophet’s magic worked by now. After his few meetings with him in the past it became rather apparent that the Dwarf knew every future. He was either lying about knowing the uncertain future or genuinely didn’t know. Both of which made Bishop nervous.

“What about the third future?” Bishop finally asked.

“We all die in a cataclysm.” The Prophet said plainly.

The Human and Drake stared at the blind man. What? They each thought. How does Clammy learning a secret cause the end of the world? Bishop thought.

“How-“

“I will not say.”

“I see…” Bishop said lamely.

“A word of advice, Bella of Salae.” The Prophet began. “Your name holds power. Use it and master your magic. Divination is just like any other school of magic, practice and knowledge will cause you to soar.”

“… My name is Clammy.” She said just loud enough for both of the men to hear.

“Even better then. Find yourself Clammy of Lesterwood, for Bella of Salae will soon take her revenge.” The ward lights flickered out and the Dwarf stood. Clammy and Bishop stood also. All three bowed to each other without another word said, understanding the meeting was over. The Prophet exited the room and Amber showed the guests the way out. The pair slowly made their way to their inn. Together they drank and thought about the [Diviner]’s words.

“What a crock of shit.” Clammy finally said.

“Indeed.” Bishop replied.