The Nature of Prophecy

Xavyra frowned, hunching her shoulders and peering more closely at the old tome as though doing so might change its translation.


She ignored the voice though it called her name three times before she gave up her readings and looked up at the speaker. “What?”

“It is time.”

She grunted. She knew it was time, could they not let her put it off a little longer?

“You must go.”

She snapped the book shut, almost smiling as the Reshti jumped. “I know.” She slid the book into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“It is an honor, you should be proud.”

Xavyra couldn’t help but sneer. “It is a prophecy, Reshti. I have little choice and much less honor. It will happen no matter what I do.”

“They will need you to watch them, guide them. It is your place–”

“I know,” she interrupted, but in her mind, she wondered, is it really? In the end, it didn’t matter, she was a fate, her people would not let her stay here when destiny dictated elsewise. She turned her back on Reshti so he could not see her anger. “Goodbye.” Quickly she retreated to the door of the study and down the hall, making her way to the audience room where her fate awaited her.


Just a little snippet based on one of the characters from an older entry that I really liked (Prophetic Paradoxy). I felt compelled to explore Xavyra a little.


About Saronai

I'm an eclectic amalgam of confusingly combined oddities. PS If I liked your post it means I really liked your post. You don't have to visit back, but it would be nice. Either way, I read it because I wanted to and liked it because I did. I don't do the fake like for returns thing :)
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