Enter the World of
In the Depths of a Man's Mind

In the dark recesses of Castle Neleuwan, a wizened man descended the cold narrow steps towards an old meat cellar. Revered as an advisor of kings and queens, his words had shaped nations and history alike. Today, he had a different purpose. The echo of his shoes hitting the stone beneath his feet grew less noticeable as the loud roar from beyond the door became more prominent the closer he moved towards it.

Uncertain of what he would find beyond it, he proceeded with haste—not with fear, but excitement. Reaching the door at the base of the stairs, he held for a moment as if considering something, then suddenly pushed through. In the same instant, the noise that had been heard all the way from the top of the stairwell fell to silence. For a fleeting moment, all eyes turned towards the figure that had entered the room.

A sudden cheer went up, and the room's occupants moved to their proper places. The boys' excitement had turned to reverence at the arrival of their new teacher: an imposing figure in brown robes with a grey beard cascading down the front, stopping just short of the simple runic pattern just above the belt wrapped at his waist.

The figure strode across the room and took his place at the front of the boys, now seated around the small, dark chamber. The meat cellar, having been converted to a classroom of sorts, smelled of damp and dirt, doing nothing to give away its true purpose. As a teacher, the man had great influence over the minds of the young men who'd settled into their places beneath his heavy eyebrows. Only now would they come to understand his true intentions.

"Good morning, squires," came a deep, resonant voice from within the hood.

It was tinged with great wisdom and knowledge, and a sense of optimism for what was to come. Of course, the boys had been told about their teacher, and each had been excited in their own way to meet this robed figure. His voice felt familiar and comforting to them, as if he'd known them all for years, and a good friend was returning into their presence.

He let the anticipation build for a little longer than the boys had expected, standing in front of them without saying a word, waiting for the uncomfortable silence to fester. Finally, now that he had their undivided attention, he slowly drew back his hood. The boys released a collective breath, his disposition putting them at ease.

"A question for you, boys … or could it be a riddle?" The man grinned, looking around the room and making eye contact with each boy. "If you wanted to influence our world from somewhere beyond it, how would you go about it?"

The room was silent for a long time before a young boy raised his hand. He suggested a dream or premonition — close, but not quite right. Then, from a dark corner at the far reaches of the room, a quiet voice offered a single word.

"Prophecy!"
"Correct, Forgrand."

A smile was all the robed figure could see, but it practically lit up the darkened corner.

"Prophecy, gentlemen! For over four millennia, we have had reported incidences of prophecy—some which have come to pass, and others that have not. Take, for example, the prophecy known as The Contingent. This prophecy alone predicted the downfall of the Igerian State."

From the back of the room, a small, unusual boy raised his hand. He was notably younger than the others, his squire's attire swimming on his slight frame. But the depth of his voice belied his age — and the moment he began to speak, his eyes flared, ever so briefly, a light blue.

It did not escape his teacher's attention.

"Firstly, sir," Higant began carefully, "the words of The Contingent alone weren't much to go on. Did the prophecy have markers?"

The room erupted in jibes. The robed man silenced them with a word. Because the boy was right — and what followed was a story none of them had ever heard. A story about a young woman who appeared before the mages of Acoreq, spent eight months working through thousands of ancient documents, and slept under the open sky night after night until the stars finally revealed a secret hidden in plain sight for over a century.

The markers were star charts.

By now, every boy in the room had leaned forward without realising it. The teacher let the silence stretch — and then came a loud bang against the oak door.

The room collectively jumped.

A young messenger bowed and extended a roll of parchment bearing the seal of Acoreq.

"Time turns for no man but the one true prophet," said the messenger, kneeling.

The more perceptive of the boys' jaws dropped. Their teacher's identity had become unmistakably clear. The robed figure before them was none other than Master Vandrune — the true prophet himself.