Mary sat in her chair in the empty office room, which felt like a slowly shrinking bubble of sanity sinking into an ocean of utter chaos. Now that the harbinger of said chaos left the room, she started to inspect it more closely.

The computer seemed to be the most modern device in Mary’s field of sight. The filing cabinets on the wall were progressively less dusted from left to right until suddenly seeming unused again, as if someone only inserted new documents into them, and moved to the next one after running out of space - and never, ever took anything out. The window was closed, and on the windowsill, there stood a single potted cactus. It was almost dried dead.

At that point, Mary realised that the last time she had anything to drink was probably hours ago, and those hours included mad running and speaking. Her throat started to slowly turn into a piece of parchment, which did not seem like an improvement. She turned around in search of some source of water, like the dispenser they had on the orphanage’s last floor, but all she found was more cabinets, and they seemed way too dusted to contain anything drinkable.

And then, on the verge of giving up hope, she spotted a tiny, porcelain cup of coffee on the desk. It was almost full. Her throat immediately started to explain to her brain that Key wouldn’t notice if a sip or two went missing. Wasn’t there something about liquids being prone to evaporate by themselves anyway, given time? Surely in a place like this, even an entire cup disappearing wouldn’t be a problem…

Her brain fought bravely, yet the warning not to touch anything seemed so distant, and the coffee so promising… And in an office like that, surrounded by all those baristas (that, granted, occasionally doubled as clerks), the coffee would have to be no worse than a glass of nectar brought to humanity by a merciful god straight from Mount Olympus. The battle was over before it even began.

She raised her hand towards the cup, yet a sudden hissing noise stopped her dead in her tracks. There was a cute, pink kitten painted on the cup - and it was not happy with her intrusion. The cat’s fur bristled, and the animal arched its back. It would have been well enough to make her yell, but her throat would probably stage an open rebellion against her.

The thing grew before her very eyes, and soon the paws were no longer part of the painting, but protruded from the cup, raising it inches above the desk. Miraculously, through the whole process, not a single drop of starless-night-black liquid was spilt.

The creature’s eyes flared with a pink lumination, and Mary heard a voice inside her head.

“I am the one they call Supideo, the Feline of Devon.

Answer my riddle, and I’ll let you drink from my sacred coffee.

If you do that, you shall become the next Key,

Her powers will become yours, and so will her office.

Refuse to answer, and you may walk away, and try another time.

Answer wrongly, and you will never be able to try again.

What goes on four feet in the morning, two feet at noon, and three feet in the evening?”

Mary tried to slow her breathing back to a manageable rate and frowned. This seemed like a bad idea. And not just any bad idea, no. It would be a crown jewel for her already impressive collection. But… this was a widely known riddle, with an equally known answer, right? What could go wrong? Breathing was already causing her real pain, and if the Key got lost and wouldn’t return for hours…

“It’s a human.” A human as a baby, that is - in the morning of their life, crawls on four feet… well, appendages. As an adult, in the noon of their life, they simply walk. And in the evening of their life, they walk with a cane, thus - three feet.

“You answered wrongly. It’s a Saranacockora.

You failed your trial and so are denied my coffee.

Farewell, Mary Susan Oceanrunner.”

“But, what, how….”

She didn’t manage to finish that question because, at that point, she heard voices coming from behind the door.

“... come on, Key, another veich? You know-.”

“Oh, do I?” came a reply in a familiar voice. “Your track record seems to show something different..”

“We both know it’s not about a track record. Are you still mad at me for that dinner? You know it wasn’t my fault!”

“Firstly, I do not let my private life influence my decisions, and you should remember that or the next time you’ll get a Chosen One to mentor. Secondly - of course, it was your fault!”

The door opened, and two people entered - one was Key, whose nose seemed to seek a Northern Star, and the other…

“Hello, Mary. I’m Bromman Ward, and I’ll have the indescribable pleasure of being your mentor,” said a man in a worn tweed jacket stained by old mud and fresh mustard. He was tall, thin by today’s standards (and none others), and sounded almost as enthusiastic as Mary felt.

Key shot him a reprimanding look, which he pointedly or unwittingly ignored - Mary couldn’t tell.

“Yes, well, as he said,” Key said. “he’ll be your guide to this world and help you fulfil your destiny.”

Mary wanted to ask a hundred questions, but one of them seemed to be especially nagging at the time.

“Excuse me, could I have some water?” She said with significant difficulty.

Key looked at her, bewildered. “Of course you can. Just clap your hands.” She demonstrated, and a plastic bottle of water materialised on her desk, with a useless label describing the composition and all. The coffee cup was back to normal as if nothing ever happened. It was just standing there, menacingly.

Mary drank the whole thing with only a single break for breathing and realised that the others were looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, right, nice to meet you too, Mr Ward, and thank you, Ma’am. Um… could you play that prophecy thingy again? I don’t think I understand what the destiny I’m supposed to fulfil, and I wouldn’t want to do something else by mistake.”

Key raised an eyebrow at that. “Of course not. First of all, according to the Statute of Unne… ekhm, Universal Secrecy, and the agreement you had already signed, you are only allowed to experience the entire prophecy once. There was a time when they were delivered personally instead of through a recording, but well… a lot of heroes are teenage boys, and let’s say that the decency standards have changed over the years, and oracles’ dressing habits didn’t.” Her tone made it really clear that she shared Sister Angelica’s view on the matter.

“Second of all,” Mr Ward interjected, ”speaking about a prophecy in front of your mentor is considered rude, as more than half of them contain more or less violent descriptions of their deaths. I don’t personally care all that much - it’s not like I didn’t bother to check mortality rate before picking this job - but it’s a good rule to follow in general.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. But-”

“No, really, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know either way.” Mr Ward shook his head. “Anyway, we have some more papers to sign, yes?” he said, evidently wanting to be somewhere else already.

Key didn’t bother answering, and simply took out a thumb-thick stack of paper. It landed on her desk with an audible thud.

“Full name on the last page, and any signature on the rest,” she said.