Written in The Stars

The Eighth Scroll

"Chosen ones?" Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Really? This is utter nonsense!"

It was already getting late at night, when the guys finally managed to retire to a table in the tavern after cleaning up a mess. There were so many dead that it made their bodies shudder. The guys forbade Lydia to inspect the destroyed houses, so she and Jhaar treated the wounds of the victims who came to the tavern in search of shelter. Now all the friends were very disheveled – loose hair, dirty and in some places torn clothes, as well as bruises and abrasions visible in some places.

"Does anyone even know what this prophecy is?" Pete snorted, leaning back against the wall.

The whispers of the townspeople could still be heard around them when they saw "those very heroes" who drove away the unknown. Among them, Nestor noticed Marishka, the woman who now owned the magic shop. Fortunately, the store was located in another part of the city, and therefore was not affected by the flames, which, apparently, could not be said about her house. A man with a bandaged arm was sitting next to her, obviously her husband. They looked very tired, but they were still smiling tenderly in each other's arms. It looked very touching.

The owner of the tavern gave the guys a free dinner. However, as well as all the others who got into a difficult situation after the incident. A messenger has already gone to the royal domain to report the incident. Now all that remained was to wait.

"This is the most important prophecy in the last thousand years," the elf looked at his friends with a surprised look. "Haven't you heard of it?"

Eugene, Pete, and Lydia exchanged glances, then shook their heads. Morph took a sip of wine from a small glass:

"Jhaar was told about this when he was still a kitten. Like everyone else at the orphanage," it was a rare moment when those present could see him without his cape.

"I've heard excerpts from my mother," Marcel supported him, breaking a piece of bread in two. "But, frankly, I didn't even think about it all this time."

"Friends, this is very serious," the elf lowered his tone, bending slightly over the table. "If this is really what the prophecy says, we're in for something terrible."

"What does this damned prophecy say?" Pete threw up his hands. "There are still a few lyres here who have no idea what you're talking about!"

Nestor sighed heavily, looking down. His friends looked a little worried now. Marcel, on the other hand, seemed completely exhausted – his eyes were completely blank as he continued to eat the stew, dipping bread into it. He wasn't going to help his friend with the explanation.

"The seers saw the darkness," the elf's voice was quiet, and he was now looking through everyone and everything, completely immersed in history. "Something so terrifying and powerful that it was impossible to describe in words. It was not clear to them what it was.... A lyre, an orc, a beast, or something else. That's why they called him The Almighty. In their visions, he destroyed villages, cities... entire states. He destroyed everything."

For a few moments, Nestor sat completely silent, staring into the void. His whole face expressed unimaginable bitterness.

"So he did destroy it?" Pete couldn't stand it, holding up his palms. "Then what does the chosen ones have to do with it?"

The elf looked up at his friend, but did not have time to say anything.

"A little later, the vision began to take on more and more details," Jhaar said, continuing to drink.

"That's right," Nestor said indifferently, raising his eyebrows for a second. "The elders saw that a few brave souls would challenge him. The only ones who can match his strength."