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Chapter 656: The Oracle and the Chosen One

A woman’s voice arrived directly in his mind. “Speak freely. What has happened above?”

He didn’t need to open his mouth — only to form his thoughts, and they were received. This manner of communication had been strange at first. Now he found it faster than speech. It also made concealment nearly impossible; the Oracle received everything he formed in his mind, including the thoughts he did not intend to share.

He gave his report without embellishment. “Holy Oracle, something unexpected occurred. They declined the Ambassador of Graycastle’s invitation. This failure is mine. I underestimated how deeply their guard has settled.”

She did not reproach him. “People’s hearts are difficult to anticipate. Do you have a remedy?”

“They’ll accept eventually. It’s only a matter of time.” He paused. “His Majesty Appen Moya’s new policy is accelerating things.”

“Tut.” A sound of quiet disapproval. “Common man.”

He tensed. “How may I serve you, Holy Oracle?”

“I dislike this witch-removal policy. Can you guarantee no one will be harmed?”

The question reached him before he’d had time to compose an answer, and what the Oracle received in his mind was the unguarded truth: he knew that once the policy was enacted, some witches would be caught. Some would be killed. The Oracle’s instruction had been to drive the witches southward toward the Western Region of Graycastle, not to ensure their survival along the way.

“Is that what you think?” The Oracle’s voice sharpened. All her tendrils moved at once, a ripple that traveled from the wall downward, and the lava beneath them surged in answer to her agitation. “Don’t forget what I told you. Before the doomsday, every witch is essential!”

His thought had reached her before he could shape it into something more diplomatic. He moved quickly to repair the impression. “No, Holy Oracle — I remember every word. I have no wish to see innocents harmed. But proceeding without casualties requires time and new arrangements. Not everyone has the courage to defy the king’s law, and they must be kept in ignorance of the larger plan. Restructuring will take effort.”

She recovered quickly. “I’ll send my guards to assist you. How long will you need?”

He exhaled. He had seen her guards at work. They moved at speeds that ordinary knights could not track, let alone counter; two or three of them together could overwhelm twenty knights without difficulty. “Two weeks to complete the third step of the plan.”

“Then do it.”

“Holy Oracle.” He hesitated, then asked anyway. “Are the witches truly that indispensable? Couldn’t a different Chosen One — someone with wealth or influence, someone positioned to act more broadly—”

“The deities seek a Chosen One who can wield divine power directly,” she interrupted. “Not a secular representative. Wealth and power have no use when the doomsday arrives. Common man, you are useful — genuinely so — and when the mission is complete, you will be rewarded appropriately. Immortality, among other things. But you must understand your position within this.”

He did understand it, even if the understanding chafed. Every four hundred years the Blood Moon rose, and the Gates of Hell opened, and demons poured across the land. The Chosen One — someone with the capacity to connect to the divine power the deities offered — was the only answer to it. And that someone had to be a witch.

“Are you certain,” he pressed gently, “that the Chosen One is among the witches in Graycastle?”

The Oracle went silent. An unusual silence for her — he could feel the weight of it. Then: “No. This is not certain. It’s another attempt in a long series of attempts. We have searched this way for hundreds of years.”

“And if this one fails?”

“We continue searching. Until the doomsday consumes the world entirely.”

It would mean nothing to be immortal in a world with no one left in it. He smiled inwardly — a bitter, private thing — and said, “I understand. I’ll do everything in my power to complete the task.”

Her tendrils stirred — all of them at once, slowly, a motion that communicated satisfaction the way the surging lava had communicated anger.

“One more matter.” Her voice carried something that might have been curiosity, or caution. “Is it confirmed that the church was truly defeated?”

The news of Coldwind Ridge had reached the Kingdom of Dawn weeks ago, and the Oracle had wanted it verified rather than assumed. She’d sent Banach’s men to the battlefield itself.

“Yes. The ground near Coldwind Ridge looks as though demonic beasts fought there — craters, trenches, no living thing. Thousands of graves were raised by the King of Graycastle to honor his own dead; the church’s fallen were buried where they lay. Merchants coming down from the Hermes Plateau report that the Holy City is silent. Empty of the prosperity that used to define it.”

When he finished, the Oracle’s voice went soft. “This is their end.” A pause. Then, more briskly: “That will do for today. I’m tired.”

“Yes, Holy Oracle.” He bowed.

The underground vision dissolved as abruptly as a wave pulling back from shore. The stone room returned, dark for a moment, then flickering back to life as the Magic Stones relit themselves.

It had the quality of a dream from which one has only just woken.

One of the guards approached and placed a porcelain bottle in his hands. “The medicine for this period. The Oracle was pleased with your recent work.”

“Thank her for me.” His voice came out rough with gratitude. He drank without pause.

A warmth spread from his stomach outward, reaching his joints, his hands, the place behind his eyes where fatigue always settled first. The rejuvenation it produced was temporary — it would not extend his life by a single day — but it was real. Three years ago he had needed a wheelchair pushed by a servant to move from room to room. Now he could walk. That was not nothing.

The Oracle had been transparent with him about its limitations, which paradoxically strengthened his faith in her. A fraud offering magic medicine would promise transformation, transcendence. She promised only repair — the body’s vigor restored, fatigue relieved, the pain of the final transformation made survivable. Honesty about what it could not do made it easier to believe in what it could.

He rose and lifted the curtain, stepping out onto the rock stairs. The damp wind from the underground river hit him, and where it had felt like oppression on the way in, it felt like weather now. He walked with his head up. His steps were certain on the stone. The roaring below him — the vast water crashing through the dark — sounded less like whispers of ruin and more like something that would carry him forward.

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