The journey to the Observatory of Veils is longer than most people expect. The line is even longer.

The ancient structure stands atop the cliffs overlooking the sea, its great glass dome visible for miles. For centuries, people from every corner of Arcana have climbed the winding road leading to its gates seeking answers from the High Priestess. Kings have consulted her before wars. Merchants have entrusted fortunes to her predictions. Entire cities have altered their plans based on a few carefully chosen words.

You expected adoring pilgrims seeking guidance. Instead, the queue is full of angry people. You eavesdrop. It's not like you had anything better to do.

"She told me the northern route was safer."

A merchant standing ahead of you folds his arms.

"I lost three wagons." "It's lucky for you that you only lost three!"

A woman nearby snorts.

"She told me my business would prosper if I expanded." "And?" "I declared two bankruptcies."

Several people nod sympathetically.

A man carrying a cane joins the conversation.

"At least yours existed. She told me I'd inherit my uncle's estate." "Did you?" "He has never been as healthy. Not only that, but he removed me from his will!"

Further ahead, another argument is already underway.

"She said my daughter would marry a noble." "Maybe she still will." "She ran away to marry a... blacksmith!!! The shame."

The line slowly advances toward the observatory doors. The strange part is that nobody sounds angry enough to stop believing. Confused, certainly. Frustrated, absolutely. But every person here still climbed a mountain to speak with her again.

Eventually you pass through the great bronze doors and enter the observatory itself. The atmosphere changes immediately.

The background noise disappears and the annoyed whispers fade.

At the center of the vast circular chamber sits the High Priestess.

Moonlight spills through the immense glass dome overhead, illuminating countless books, charts and celestial instruments surrounding her. Dark robes embroidered with stars cascade from a throne carved from pale stone. Cards rest neatly arranged upon a table before her while attendants quietly move throughout the room recording predictions, updating records and organizing stacks of journals.

A nobleman currently stands before her.

"My son intends to join the royal army. Should I support his decision?"

The High Priestess studies the cards.

"No."

The nobleman nods and quietly steps aside. An attendant immediately opens a nearby ledger. You catch a glimpse of dozens upon dozens of names. Beside each name is a prediction. Beside each prediction is a note.

You discreetly take a glimpse: Incorrect. Incorrect. Incorrect. Incorrect. The list continues for pages. The attendant closes the journal before you can read further.

Hours pass. One by one, visitors receive their answers and leave.

Eventually only a single petitioner remains.

You.

An attendant approaches the High Priestess and quietly informs her that the final visitor is waiting.

For the first time since your arrival, she looks up. Her gaze settles upon you. Then upon the cards. Then upon a nearby chart. Then upon a journal already opened to a blank page.

Several seconds pass.

The attendants exchange nervous looks.

The High Priestess reaches for a card. Then another. Then a third. The silence in the observatory becomes almost unbearable. Finally, she places the deck aside.

"...Well."

For the first time all day, a faint smile appears.

"It would seem I am about to disappoint someone new."