The air grows colder as the afternoon progresses, carrying with it the faint scent of burnt sugar and roasting meats. I follow the cobbled path back toward the heart of the festival, the press of people returning with every step.

  As I make my way past a gaudy purple tent, the hum of music and laughter surrounding it, I nearly bump into a familiar figure, Guardsman Dale, leaning against a post with a meat skewer in one hand and a half-finished mug of ale in the other.

  “Ah, Seven. Good to see you lad,” he says with a grin. “Caught one of your bouts earlier, fine work.”

  “Thought you were on duty,” I say.

  “Later,” he replies, waving the skewer lazily. “Night watch. Let the green boys handle the crowds. Me? I’ve always loved the festival. Ever since I was a boy, the singing, the dancing, the fights... best time of the year, you know? Glad this time I didn't miss out.”

  I nod. "You usually get pulled into trouble on days like this?"

  Dale chuckles, taking a swig of ale. "Aye, more often than not. Brawls in the alleys, cutpurses working the crowd, some drunk getting handsy with a merchant's daughter, it all comes out during festival. And letting so many strangers inside the walls always brings risk." Dale takes a large bite from his skewer and then shrugs. "But what can you do? Mayor Stont can’t exactly turn away the trade, not with things being what they are. And the folk need something to look forward to. Helps 'em forget the rest of the year."

  A voice breaks into our conversation as another figure approaches. Guardsman Philip joins us, clapping me on the shoulder with a broad grin. “Seven! Good show earlier.” Then, turning to Dale, he adds, “The archery match’s starting. Let’s go win us a prize.”

  Dale straightens up. “Wouldn’t miss it. You coming, lad?” he asks me.

  I shake my head. “Better not. I’ve got to prepare myself for my final fight.”

  He nods, raising his mug in salute. “Fair enough. Good luck to you, then.”

  With that, the two guardsmen make their way down the lane, disappearing into the crowd.

  I prepare myself, looking ahead. The tournament arena looms in front of me, there’s time yet… but I want to make sure I have what I need.

  With it, I can’t lose.

  "You’re here."

  A gentle tug on my cloak pulls me from my haze. I turn and find myself staring at a peculiar woman. She’s dressed in strangely meager garb, her bared skin carrying a faint blue tint that seems almost luminous in the sunlight. Glitter dusts her cheeks and her lips are painted a deep cerulean, she looks up at me with strange crystalline eyes.

  Recognition strikes. The woman from Lucien’s shop, the one who bought a scroll from him.

  "You... did you, um, need something?" I stammer, unsure of how to respond as she tugs insistently at my cloak. She gestures toward a purple tent standing just a short distance away from the other stalls in the district, most of which have already closed up shop.

  "Come," she says simply, but I step back cautiously, her grip still firm on my cloak. "Um, what is it?" I ask, both curious and suspicious.

  She pulls harder, with almost childlike determination, though I don't budge an inch. Her small frame strains and she grunts softly with the effort, like a child trying to drag her father to play. "Why?" I ask again, my wariness growing. I am curious about her and the scroll she bought, but I don't like strangers taking a sudden interest in me, especially one associated with Lucien.

  "Tell.... your..... fortune."

  Huh... that's right. She mentioned she wanted me to visit her last time, though she never told me where she lived.

  "Hnngh..." As though trying to solve a puzzle, she adjusts her grip on my cloak and instead wraps it around her shoulder, turning around and marching towards her tent. It's like I'm a tree she's just cut down, to be roped and dragged back to her cabin.

  "Hey, watch it! You’re going to rip my cloak!" I protest, but she doesn’t even glance back. Before I fully realize it, I’m walking after her, trying to tug the tattered fabric free from her firm grip as she leads me into the tent.

  It’s a purple, set among a scattering of others along the market lane, part of the festival’s amusements. The sort of place where young townsfolk gather, eager for diversions and mystery.

  "Fine. I'm here, what do you want? I've got a tournament to win." I say, as I look around. It looks a little bigger than the exterior suggested, there's two chairs and a table in the center. As well as a large bag off to the side and a mirror at the far end of the tent.

  "I am... the Oracle.... I will.... tell your fortune." She speaks a little more clearly this time, though it seems like a line she's rehearsed.

  I've heard of 'Oracles' before. Fortune tellers that accept coin in exchange for a glimpse into your future, or perhaps communication with a loved one. From what I've heard it's all nonsense, but then again, a lot of what I thought was nonsense, has turned out to be true in recent times.

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  "How exactly are you going to do that?."

  She ignores me, gesturing to one of the chairs.

  "Sit."

  I don't move immediately, so she pouts and stomps her foot, glaring at me. "Won’t charge for the first telling. Now sit!"

  No charge? Now that's not something I've ever heard associated with these people. And, well... I'm not one to turn down something that's free.

  "...Fine." I say, sinking into the chair as she takes the seat opposite me. "So, how does this work?"

  She says nothing at first, simply extending her hand, palm up, waiting expectantly. "Hand."

  I hesitate but slowly offer mine. Her fingers trace along the lines of my palm, her touch delicate. Her nails are long but smooth, gliding across my skin in a way that is... oddly soothing. The sensation is almost hypnotic, as is her unique appearance.

  She taps the center of my palm with a single long nail, her frown deepening as her gaze lingers on scars left by Lucien's scroll.

  "Scars... where did you get them?" Her voice is quieter now, edged with something unreadable.

  I hesitate.

  Now what do I want to tell her? I know she bought a scroll too, so surely she wouldn't turn me into the church. Not that Father Alric seems to have a problem with it anyhow....

  Could also be a good opportunity to learn more.

  Maybe she can help me past the barrier I've reached with that damned scroll.

  Slowly, I answer her. "From a scroll I read. I bought it from Lucien, actually. Like you did."

  Her eyes darken, her expression tightening as she releases my hand. "You should not have done that."

  I frown. "Why? You bought one too."

  She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, her gaze flicks from my hand to my face.

  Without another word, she reaches into her bag and retrieves a fist-sized orb, smooth and shimmering like glass, or perhaps crystal.

  She gently places it in my still-outstretched palm, then covers it with her own, her touch firm and deliberate.

  "Wyrdseoc"

  The word reverberates through my skull, yet I can’t quite hear it. It lingers on the edges of my mind, slipping away the moment I try to grasp it.

  Between our hands, the orb grows warm and begins to tremble. It's slight, both changes barely noticeable, and visually there's nothing different... but there's something odd about the object. There's no doubt about it.

  "I see you. Seven." The Oracle's voice shifts, firmer, deeper. It almost sounds... masculine, like it's another person's voice speaking through her body. I get the instinctive urge to step back, each word setting my nerves on end.

  "You are hunted. The Many comes. Seeking what was promised."

  Her voice, layered and distant, cuts into me like ice.

  'The Many'? She can't be talking about Vael... can she?

  But how would... don't tell me... can she truly see my future?

  I swallow hard as I consider her words, seriously this time.

  The Many comes, seeking what was promised... So he really is coming for me.

  "But there is time yet," she interrupts. "The ghost wolf hunts. The Many will not overcome it easily."

  I exhale, shakily. "The wolf... it’s still fighting?"

  She nods firmly, looking deep into the crystal orb. “For another moon may it yet prowl, before the call of winter has ended and it is forced to slumber.”

  I swallow, hope clinging to my voice. "Will the wolf kill him?"

  She shakes her head. "No. The Many cannot be slain in battle."

  My heart sinks. The tension in my chest coils tighter. "Then how? How can he be killed?"

  Her gaze sharpens, drinking in deeper, the orb's reflected light. "One must have the authority. With it...."

  Suddenly, her voice cuts out. The orb grows cold in my palm. She gasps softly and slumps backward, exhausted.

  "Authority? What? Hey!" I wave my hand in front of her face, trying to get her attention.

  She brushes it aside with a lazy motion and sits up, blinking slowly like someone waking from a deep sleep. Then she smiles innocently, as if nothing at all just happened.

  "Did you enjoy your fortune?" she asks sweetly, tilting her head.

  I lean in, trying to get her to focus. "Wait, what happened? You didn’t finish. What were you about to say?"

  She tilts her head, confused. "Didn’t I?"

  I narrow my eyes. "No. You stopped."

  She puts the crystal orb back in her bag and shrugs. "Just ends like that, sometimes." she says, vaguely, as though it’s nothing worth questioning.

  I frown, mind spinning. "How much does it cost for another reading?"

  She waves her hand, sighing, like the answer should be obvious. "No more silly. Not for some time. Fate needs time."

  "How much time?" I ask.

  She shrugs, offering nothing more.

  Tch... so that's how it is. Do I just wait? What other choice is there?

  Then again, it might be unwise to take her word as gospel. She knows a lot and sounds convincing, but who knows really. She could be with Vael and Lucien, for all I know. She did buy that scroll...

  Still, I will return. If she can provide some hint... I'd be a fool not to at least listen.

  One more moon… if that’s how long the wolf stands between me and Vael…. I’ll have to be ready for him before then.

  "How reliable are your fortunes?" I ask, gesturing to the bag holding her crystal ball. "And are they usually like that?"

  "Reliable." She pouts, crossing her arms. "And no, special fortune. For those touched by magic. Ordinary humans only like tricks. Not real magic."

  That word sticks in my mind. Magic.

  "You’re… some kind of sorceress, right? That’s how you tell your fortunes?" I ask, hesitating before the real question. "Can you teach me anything?"

  She shakes her head. "Not qualified. Not permitted."

  "Not permitted by who? Why not?"

  She doesn't answer. Just stares at me, smiling innocently.

  I sigh, ready to give up, but then pause.

  One last try.

  "You bought a scroll from Lucien, right? I have one too. Can you tell me what it says?"

  Her eyes spark with curiosity as she nods. I hand her the scroll, and she unrolls it with care, her gaze flicking across the runes. Her brow tightens, a subtle recoil in her posture, as if the markings carry something that repulses her.

  After a moment, she rolls it back up and hands it to me. "Gibberish," she says flatly.

  I frown. "Huh? What do you mean?"

  "It says nothing. It's useless." She says, clearly disappointed.

  Useless? What? That can't be right.... can it?

  She pushes herself to her feet, and I instinctively do the same. Before I can say anything else, she steps forward and pulls me into a deep, unexpected hug.

  "Goodbye. Live well."

  Then, just as suddenly, she releases me and pushes me toward the tent’s exit, back into loud festival.

  Gibberish... that bastard didn't trick me did he?

  I'll have to go see him.

  The bell tolls, echoing across the square. The crowd shifts, attention pulling toward the pit once more. The tournament begins again, the final, deciding match is here.

  Tomorrow. I'll get my answers then.