A sharp, tired sigh cut through the tense air. Angela rubbed her forehead, trying to physically push back the coming migraine.
The sight before her was a small comfort, though. Oathran Alicei, whole and breathing, sat sprawled with deceptive calm on the plush sofa. The prophecy was, for now, just vile words on paper.
But words had power. And the words Ruby threatened to unleash were the kind that started wars.
"Even if we all see him sitting right here," Angela muttered, "the prophecy itself is the problem. The moment it leaves that woman's lips and touches the ears of the faithful, it becomes a fact in the minds of millions. A fact that the Dragon Lord has died and is meant to be turned to a weapon."
