He adjusted his glasses and read from a parchment:
"When celestial bodies align in discord, the Unwitting Vessel shall emerge. Through chaos and order entwined, the Vessel carries destiny's burden. Seek the Four Keys of Fate, scattered like stars across the firmament of possibility. Only when harmony blooms from discord shall the Cosmic Chalice reveal its true purpose. Beware the Harbinger of Ending Days who seeks to drain the chalice dry."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
Agent Nightstar nodded grimly. "Ancient prophecies are occasionally metaphorical. We hope."
"What does that even mean? Unwitting Vessel? That's me, I guess?" I pointed to my glowing palm. "And what's this about a chalice? I don't have a chalice."
"The Cosmic Chalice is likely a metaphorical representation of your role as the prophecy carrier," Dr. Thornwick explained, excitement radiating from him like heat from a furnace. "And the Four Keys of Fate, well, that's quite clear, isn't it?"
"Crystal," I deadpanned. That headache from the lights was turning into a migraine.
Agent Nightstar stepped forward. "According to Section 11, Paragraph 42 of the Prophetic Protection Protocol, any Class 1 Prophecy mentioning 'keys' or 'guardians' requires the immediate assignment of Fate Protectors."
"Fate Protectors?" I rubbed my temples. "What makes this a class 1?"
"Specially trained agents who will ensure you don't accidentally reshape reality while we decode the full prophecy," she explained. "The reference to 'Four Keys of Fate' is explicit. Protocol demands four protectors. It's class 1 because you can literally manipulate reality."
I laughed. It sounded slightly unhinged even to my own ears. "So what, I get a supernatural entourage now?"
"Precisely." Agent Nightstar pressed a button on her communication device. "Send in the assigned protectors."
The door swung open almost immediately, and a tall, scruffy-looking man with dark hair and a perpetual scowl stalked in. He wore torn jeans and a leather jacket despite the summer heat, and his eyes, amber with flecks of gold, swept the room before landing on me.
"Rook," he introduced himself curtly. "Werewolf. Alpha but lone wolf. Not babysitting material." He sniffed the air and his frown deepened. "You smell like honey toast and old books."
"Thanks?" I replied, unsure if that was an insult or just an observation. I sniffed under my cardigans arm. I didn't smell anything.
He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and eyed me like I might explode at any moment. Which, to be fair, wasn't entirely off the table given recent events.
The second arrival sauntered in with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how good-looking they were. Talland lithe with copper skin and silver-streaked black hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, he wore yoga pants and a fitted t-shirt that read "Downward Facing Demon." His eyes were mismatched, one deep blue, one emerald green, and when he smiled, I caught a flash of pointed teeth.
"Zane," he introduced himself with a slight bow. "Former demon bounty hunter, current yoga instructor, part-time reluctant hero. Half-fae on my mother's side, which is why I'm stuck with this assignment." He glanced at Rook and rolled his eyes. "Oh good, they assigned the anger management failure too."
Rook growled, actually growled, and I could have sworn his eyes flashed yellow.
Before things could escalate, the door burst open again, and in tumbled a young man with wild brown curls and an enthusiastic smile. He wore a black robe covered in colorful patches, one looked like a smiling skull giving a thumbs up, and carried what appeared to be a tiny skeleton about the size of a Barbie doll.
"Hi! I'm Milo! Necromancer! So excited to meet you!" He thrust out his hand, then seemed to think better of it given my glowing palm situation. "Oh, right, probably shouldn't shake. This is Jeffrey!" He held up the tiny skeleton, which waved at me. "He's my emotional support skeleton. The others are right outside!"
As if on cue, five more miniature skeletons marched into the room in perfect formation. They lined up and suddenly broke into a choreographed dance routine that looked suspiciously like the Macarena.
"They do motivational dance numbers," Milo explained proudly. "Really helps during stressful situations!"
I stared, speechless, as the skeletons finished with jazz hands.
Jazz.
Hands.
The final arrival was so punctual he practically materialized the moment the clock ticked to the next minute. An elf with immaculate silver-blond hair, wearing a perfectly pressed charcoal suit with a blue tie that exactly matched the glow of my palm. His expression was one of barely contained horror as he surveyed the room, particularly lingering on Milo's dancing skeletons and my disheveled appearance.
Good thing he couldn't see the grape stain on my shirt.
"Fenric," he introduced himself with clipped precision. "Bureau of Magical Compliance. I'll be monitoring this situation for regulatory adherence." He pulled out a tablet and began tapping notes. "I've already documented seventeen violations since entering this room."
Agent Nightstar nodded. "These four will serve as your Fate Protectors until the prophecy is fully decoded and either fulfilled or neutralized."
