“It’s in a Prophecy,” he huffed, leading me through a set of double doors. He said “Prophecy” with a capital P. “My family Prophecy. It’s a huge deal. It’s been passed down for like, centuries. It got smuggled out of Dalmatia, okay? It got saved from the Prophecy purges in the sixties, too, back when people decided that prognostication was a False Magic. So you know it’s one of the really important Prophecies.” He took a deep breath. “My generation is supposed to have a Chosen One.”
