Fenric pulled up a chart on his tablet, turning it so we could all see. The graph showed a line that started gently, then suddenly spiked upward in the last few weeks.
"Most prophetic vessels develop their markings over years, sometimes decades," he pointed to the early part of the graph. "Yours appeared in weeks. The rate of expansion suggests that someone or something is deliberately accelerating the process."
"The Harbingers," Rook's voice was a low growl. "They're pushing her toward the choice before she's ready."
"Or before we're ready," Milo added quietly. "The Library said the Four Keys have to be together for Winter to face the choice. Maybe they're trying to force the moment before our bonds are strong enough."
I looked at each of them, taking in how they'd arranged themselves around me. Rook at the window, positioning himself between me and potential threats. Zane against the wall, casual but watchful. Milo on the floor, close enough to touch. Fenric on the coffee table, his usual professional distance abandoned in favor of proximity.
"The markings aren't just identifying me as a prophetic subject," I spoke slowly, working through my thoughts aloud. "They are not simply identifying me as a prophetic subject. They arepreparing me for something."
"Like an eldritch internship?" Zane joked, copying what I said earlier.
"We're not joking about this," Rook growled, but there was less heat in it than before.
"We all have to." I set my mug down before I accidentally crushed it with nervous energy. "Because if I think too hard about the fact that I might be turning into a cosmic delete button, I'm going to have a complete meltdown."
Fenric's expression softened fractionally. "Your ability to maintain levity in the face of existential threat is actually quite remarkable."
"I'll put that on my gravestone. 'Here lies Winter. She made jokes until the very end.'"
"There will be no gravestone," Fenric spoke with surprising vehemence, his fingers gripping his tablet until I worried it might crack. "We will find a solution that doesn't involve your premature demise or transformation into an emotionless arbiter."
The absolute certainty in his voice made something warm unfurl in my chest.
"Let's go over the Harbingers," Fenric set his tablet aside, looking more serious than I'd ever seen him. "We need to understand who we're actually dealing with."
Zane pushed away from the wall, his mismatched eyes darkening. "I'll take this one. Unfortunately."
The room fell silent. Even Rook stopped his vigilant scanning to look at Zane.
"You know more than you've been saying," I whispered gently, watching the way his jaw tightened.
"I've been hunting demons and magical entities for two centuries," Zane ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. "You pick things up. Especially things you wish you hadn't."
He moved to the center of the room, all of us instinctively shifting to give him space. Horrace tilted his head, several eyes tracking Zane's movements.
"What we know for certain," Zane's voice took on a lecturing quality I'd never heard before, "is that the Harbingers didn't create the system. They inherited it from the Oracle."
"Who trapped themselves to avoid becoming a monster," Milo added quietly, hugging his knees.
Zane nodded. "Exactly. The Harbingers took over the role the Oracle abandoned. Shaping prophecies, maintaining what they call 'the natural order.' But somewhere along the line, they stopped being custodians and became tyrants."
"Define 'somewhere along the line,'" Fenric prompted.
"About twelve hundred years ago, give or take," Zane's expression was grim. "That's when the pattern of their interventions changed. Before that, prophecies were rare, significant events. After? They multiplied. Became tools of control rather than glimpses of possibility."
I felt sick. "They're using prophecy as a weapon."
"Yes," Zane met my eyes. "And they've been very successful at it. Until you."
"Why me?"
"Because you didn't come from them," he gestured at my glowing markings. "Your prophecy emerged organically, outside their system. That's what terrifies them, the possibility that fate doesn't need their guidance at all."
Rook growled softly. "So everything, the attacks, the trials, the attempts to corrupt her markings, all of it is them trying to bring her under control."
"Or eliminate her entirely," Zane confirmed. "Whichever proves easier."
