"It seems," the Elven Emperor began, his voice calm, thoughtful, almost amused, "that your reputation isn't just smoke and whispers after all. But what I find truly curious…"
...Why the fuck is he speaking like that?
"…Even in an age where a new Hero has been born, blessed by the gods, chosen by fate, it is your name that echoes most loudly. Your name that the seers mention… again and again."
He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Prophecies. Visions. Dreams. And yet, none of them points to the Hero. All of them… point to the Vessel of the Moon. You."
He leaned slightly forward, resting his fingers against his chin as though speaking to himself just as much as to me.
"It's quite the fascinating predicament, don't you think?"
His tone remained gentle, but there was a strange sharpness, as if my existence alone was a riddle he couldn't quite solve.
Honestly?
I wanted to punch that smile right off his face.
