"Wait—the Chosen what?"
The man didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
Just stood there, quiet and still, like someone repeating a fact that didn't need explaining.
My pulse was a hammer in my chest.
The silence between us stretched, and in it, my mind split open.
Five minutes ago, I was gripping cold stone with bleeding fingers.
Five minutes ago, I was ready to let go.
And now—this.
A place that shouldn't exist.
A voice that called me by name.
A word I'd never heard used outside of history books.
Prophet.
The word didn't mean anything. Not really.
Not to someone like me.
And yet it slammed into me like it carried weight.
Like it knew something I didn't.
My thoughts spun:
What is this place?
How do you know me?
What do you want from me?
Is this some kind of experiment? A trick?
Am I dreaming?
Am I dead?
The questions piled on top of each other, tumbling faster than I could grab hold of them.
My vision blurred at the edges.
My legs shifted to run—but where?
I wasn't sure if I'd climbed into something or been brought into it.
The man took a step forward. Calm. No threat.
Then, in the same steady voice:
"This way, Prophet."
And just like that, the noise in my head stalled.
Like the word itself had pulled the air out of the room.
I didn't answer.
I just stared at him.
And for a single breath, I forgot how to move.
I blinked. Swallowed hard. My voice came rough, half-choked.
"Wait... who are you?"
My words echoed across the golden hall.
"And what the hell is this place? How's it even real? I climbed the damn tower—brick, rust, broken scaffolding—not this. This wasn't here. It's impossible."
My hands lifted, shaking now.
"And why the hell do you keep calling me that? Prophet? What does that even mean? I'm nobody. Just some kid from Gazelle who climbed too high."
The man didn't move right away. Just watched me—quiet, still, patient. Like he was waiting for me to make sense of something I couldn't yet grasp.
I hated him for that.
"Answer me," I snapped. "I want answers, not riddles."
A long silence. Not empty—heavy. Like the whole place was listening.
Then, finally, the man spoke.
"You don't understand now."
"But you will. When the time is right."
"For now, follow me."
He turned and started walking toward the far end of the hall, robes barely brushing the floor.
"This way, Prophet."
That word hit me again. Like a blow. And despite every instinct screaming that I should turn and run, or wake up, or scream until the stone cracked—
I hesitated, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Every instinct screamed to stop, to run, to scream. But the man—stood steady, silent, waiting.
So I took a step forward.
Then another.
The hall stretched on, vast and golden, filled with a silence so thick it almost pressed against my skin. The air shimmered faintly, alive with something I couldn't name.
Ahead, the space opened into a vast chamber.
At its center, a massive round table gleamed, carved from stone veined with gold. Six empty chairs surrounded it, waiting like silent sentinels.
The man's voice was soft but firm.
"You will sit here, Ousse."
I swallowed hard and moved toward the seat, every nerve firing, every breath shallow.
I sat down, the cold stone of the chair solid beneath me. For a heartbeat, the silence wasn't suffocating. It was clear—sharp like a sudden breath after drowning.
My thoughts slowed. The chaos inside my head quieted.
This place was impossible. The tower, the strange light, the man who led me—none of it made sense. And yet, here I was. Not dreaming. Not dead. Not imagining.
I was real.
I was here.
And whatever this was — this moment — it mattered.
I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself. "Aaa… excuse me, sir. I know I already asked, and you refused to answer, but… I'm afraid I need to repeat myself. Where exactly am I?"
Gabriel's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Ah, you truly are quite the inquisitive one. But, to be precise, you are exactly where you climbed to, dear Prophet."
I frowned. "But how can that be? This place… it's impossible. It shouldn't exist."
Gabriel's eyes twinkled with amused patience. "Impossible, you say? Yet here we are, in a place that defies impossibility, simply by existing."
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling beneath my skin, but reason whispered restraint. "I see… and you are?"
Gabriel bowed with exaggerated grace. "Forgive my earlier neglect of formalities. I am Gabriel. Servant of God. Messenger, if you will."
I snorted. "What? God? Some cult leader you're working for? One of those believers in God I've read about?"
Gabriel arched an eyebrow, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Oh, dear Prophet, if you expect me to affirm belief in God, I must disappoint you —I am beyond doubt no believer."
I blinked, eyebrows knitting. "Wait, you just said you're God's messenger. But you don't believe in Him?"
"Indeed. The subtlety escapes many — belief implies question. I have none. Certainty is far more comfortable, wouldn't you agree dear prophet?"
I exhaled slowly, suspicion sharpening in my mind. Great. Just what I needed — a smarty-pants fanatic.
"And why," I pressed, "do you keep calling me a Prophet?"
Gabriel's smile deepened, almost mischievous. "Because, my dear Ousse, you are precisely that."
"How so?"
"Because you have been chosen."
I scoffed. "Chosen by who? For what?"
Gabriel's eyes gleamed, voice lowering like a secret. "All in good time, dear Prophet. But for now… ah, it seems our distinguished guests are arriving. I must attend to their welcome."
Then he turned and walked off beneath the high archway, robes whispering over the polished floor. I sat frozen, knuckles tight against the edge of the stone table, tension wrapped around my spine like a coiled wire.
Then—
Footsteps. Soft. Light. Almost playful.
Gabriel re-emerged, walking slowly beside someone — or rather, someone half-hiding behind him. Her head peeked from behind his shoulder like a curious child playing a game.
She wore robes of green and gold, flowing like woven mist. Her silver-white hair danced behind her as if the very air favored her. Her skin was deep bronze, warm under the golden glow of the hall. And her eyes—wide, silver-blue, glimmering with glee—were locked on me.
A giggle escaped her lips. "Is that him?"
"Yes, Azuya," Gabriel replied, utterly unamused. "That is the human."
She grinned, then stepped out from behind him with a spin of her staff. "Fascinating!"
I blinked. Was she real?
She moved like a dream. Her staff hovered upright beside her, crowned with a slow-turning crystal that pulsed faintly like it was breathing. She circled me once, clearly trying to be discreet and failing completely.
"A real human," she whispered. "Solid, grounded, dense — like a boulder that speaks."
"I—uh—thanks?"
She turned to me, pleased. "You're sarcastic. I like that."
"Azuya," Gabriel warned, his voice dry as desert wind.
"Right," she said, straightening. "Manners."
She placed a hand on her chest, bowing slightly. "Azuya. Wind-seer of the Sky Ranges. Prophet of the Air Tribe—what you humans used to call elves. But we are Jinn, in truth. Born of sky and thought."
Her voice shimmered like her dress — light, warm, and difficult to hold onto.
She took the seat beside me with graceful ease, her eyes still studying me like I was a puzzle that begged to be solved.
"You're heavier than I expected," she said, not unkindly. "Not just physically — your presence. It's… noisy. Emotional."
"I didn't know I signed up to be studied," I muttered.
She smiled wide. "You didn't. That's what makes it so fun."
As I looked away, trying to steady my breath, something finally caught my attention.
Gabriel had taken his place again near the far wall, standing with the poise of a statue. But now I noticed something I hadn't before:
Two small, sleek creatures — no larger than housecats — perched silently on his shoulders. One black as shadow, the other pale gold like candlelight. Long, weasel-like bodies. Sharp, clever eyes. They didn't move. Didn't blink.
They just watched.
I opened my mouth to ask, then stopped.
Gabriel caught me staring. His lips twitched into the faintest smirk.
Azuya suddenly gasped, turning to the black weasel on Gabriel's shoulder like she'd just spotted a rare constellation.
"Oh—Tamilla! Tamilla, do you see it? It's a real human!" Her voice brimmed with gleeful disbelief, like a kid spotting a shooting star. "Solid, bony elbows, stress-ridden posture, hair doing that little panic swoop—he's perfect!"
The black weasel tilted its head.
Then, with fluid grace, it stepped down from Gabriel's shoulder, its long body curling down and then up again as it climbed onto Azuya's arm. It perched there carefully, then crept up to her shoulder, nestling in with quiet precision.
I blinked.
What the hell was I watching?
Azuya beamed as Tamilla stared at me — quiet, unblinking, studying me like I was some rare insect trapped under glass. Her small nose twitched.
I frowned. "You're not seriously expecting that… thing to understand you, are you?"
Azuya turned toward me with spark-lit eyes and a smile that could have powered a city. "Oooh, yes! You have no idea. You're going to be so surprised. I'm already vibrating just thinking about it. Tamilla, I swear, his facial expressions alone are going to make this whole mission worth it."
The weasel didn't respond—just kept staring.
I glanced at Gabriel, half-hoping for an adult in the room.
That's when I noticed the second one.
The pale gold weasel had slithered down from Gabriel's other shoulder and was now standing directly in front of me, back arched, tail flicking, eyes sharp and mischievous.
I stiffened. "Uh…"
It crouched low. Then with a sudden bound, it launched itself up and landed squarely on my head.
I froze. "...Really?"
Azuya clapped, absolutely delighted. Tamilla tilted her head, observant and serene.
Still unmoving, I glanced toward Gabriel, deadpan. "He won't give me fleas or anything, right?"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," said a voice—young, loud, and way too casual.
I blinked.
What?
That… didn't come from Azuya. Or Gabriel. And it sure as hell wasn't me.
I looked up instinctively, but all I saw was a golden blur of fur and a twitching tail.
Then the weight on my head began to change.
Slowly. Unnaturally.
It pressed down heavier—not crushing, but solid, like whatever was up there was… growing.
Warmth spread over my scalp. My shoulders stiffened.
Something shifted across the back of my neck—cloth?
Then came the creak of something like leather straps tightening.
And then—pressure on both sides of my neck. Like knees. Actual knees!!!
What in the world is happening here?
Before I could say a word, the weight lifted, and a pair of boots thudded onto the floor just beside my chair.
I twisted in my seat.
There was a kid standing there now.
Short. Stocky. Sun-browned skin. Wild dark hair like he'd been in a fistfight with the wind and let it win. Bright amber eyes, and a grin that looked permanently glued in place—too wide, too confident, too amused.
He leaned on the edge of the table like he owned it, one hand tucked into the strap of a worn leather vest. His cream tunic had red patterns stitched across the sleeves, and a flame-shaped pendant swung from his neck like it was in on the joke.
"Don't worry," he said, flashing a grin. "Had a swim just yesterday, thank ya very much—though I did wrestle a hawk afterwards. But... Balance, y'know?"
I just stared at him.
What was that supposed to mean?
A swim yesterday, then wrestling a hawk? Balance? What kind of nonsense was this?
And why was some kid who looked like he belonged in a tavern telling me this like it explained everything?
The strangest part? That voice had come from somewhere on me just moments ago—a golden blur that'd landed on my head and felt… impossible.
Was I imagining things? Had I finally lost it?
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Instead, my mind spun, scrambling for something—anything—that made sense.
Azuya's eyes lit up like fireworks.
"Oh, Tamilla, you have to see this! Look at his face—pure confusion, like he just stepped into a puzzle with missing pieces."
She leaned in closer to the sleek black weasel perched calmly on her shoulder, her voice dropping to an excited whisper.
"His eyebrows are doing that thing where they're trying to figure out whether to jump or run away. And the way his mouth's hanging open? Classic 'I have no idea what's going on' expression."
She giggled softly, clearly thrilled.
"This is better than anything I imagined. Tamilla, you must remember this moment. It's priceless!"
The little weasel blinked slowly, unbothered but clearly amused.
Tamilla stepped forward, hands resting on the strap of her satchel. Her voice, when it came, was soft and careful—like every word was something she'd measured before letting it go.
"I hope that didn't frighten you," she said, eyes meeting mine behind her round glasses. "I just find smaller forms more… efficient. Easier to move. Easier to observe."
I said nothing. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
She tilted her head slightly. "You're Ousse, right? The Human Prophet?"
I couldn't even nod. My mind was still somewhere back in the middle of that transformation—trying to process how a small black creature just unraveled into a fully dressed person with glasses and a crescent moon pendant like that was a normal Tuesday.
Tamilla didn't seem to notice—or maybe she just didn't comment. Instead, she continued in that same even, thoughtful tone.
"I've studied humans. I mean, from records. Ancient anatomy charts. Some written accounts, although most are... biased." She paused. "You're built more densely than I expected. Heavier frame. Your eyes are rounder than I predicted, too."
Still nothing from me. Not a word. I was just standing there, doing a very convincing impression of a statue struck by lightning.
Azuya gasped suddenly, then clapped her hands in delight.
"Tamilla," she whispered, barely containing her laughter, "look at him. That is the face of someone whose thoughts just fell off a cliff."
Tamilla adjusted her glasses, blinking slowly. "I thought he was just breathing deeply."
"No, no," Azuya grinned. "That's the kind of stare you only make when the sky opens and you forget how walking works."
I opened my mouth—just a little—but all that came out was air and the faint sound of disbelief.
"Wow," a voice muttered off to the side. "He's actually speechless."
I turned slightly—still dazed—to see the shorter boy from earlier, the one with the wild amber eyes and the smug grin that now looked very proud of itself.
Wasn't he the one who—
Wait.
No. No, that made no sense. That was a weasel. This was a boy. Different things. Completely. Obviously.
Right?
Tamilla glanced between me and Aksel, her brow pinching slightly. "Shouldn't… I have done that?"
There wasn't guilt in her voice exactly—just quiet, thoughtful doubt, like she was reviewing an experiment that may have yielded too strong a reaction.
Azuya finally stopped laughing. Her smile faded, not in disappointment, but in focus.
"No, Tamilla," she said, stepping closer to me, her tone shifting. "I actually think this makes it easier."
She came to stand directly in front of me—close, but not too close—and looked straight into my eyes. Her silver-blue gaze was sharper now, almost glowing.
"You're overwhelmed. That's expected. Everything's changed in the span of minutes," she said, voice steady as wind before a storm.
"But now, I need you to listen, Ousse. Not just hear me—listen."
I swallowed. My hands felt clammy. The air around me seemed to still.
Azuya's expression softened just a little. "What I'm about to tell you… it will sound impossible. But that's only because your world has long forgotten or choosed to forget."
She leaned in slightly, her words now a low current beneath her breath.
"So open your mind. Just for a moment. And let go of what you think you know."