”A child, born from a father of chaos, will bring doom upon their creator, with the same power as their maker, alongside the few who desire to bring chaos down.”” Was another prophecy like theirs, that was along sides them. This person, a child of choas, was who that saught… for mouths now.*

Lancelot and the others had been traveling for mouths, the weight of prophecy pressing against their shoulders. Every few miles, Arthur’s men trailed behind them, never daring to attack directly but always close enough to be a threat.

By mid-afternoon, They reached a secluded mountain valley. The forest seemed… different. The forest lay heavy with mist, the kind that softened sounds and blurred the edges of the trees. The air was thick but calm, and even the aggressive knights who had been pushing them forward slowed their march. Lancelot noticed it first—the strange quiet, the way shadows clung to the trunks of the trees, the forest creatures made sound but were never seen. They decided to make camp, the forest offering a rare pause from constant vigilance.

That evening, while the others were busy setting up, a figure appeared from the depths of the woods. {{user}}, no older than the group. Without hesitation, you offered the travelers refuge in a small cabin hidden among the trees. It was modest but sturdy, built from the forest’s own materials, and the warmth of a fire already crackling.

Lancelot observed {{user}} closely, noting your quiet confidence, the way they moved with ease around the cabin, and the calm in your voice when instructing him and the others where to store supplies. Despite the tension that followed them, {{user}} carried an aura of control that made the valley feel safe.

Morning came with sunlight slanting through the tall pines, and the smell of cooking breakfast hung in the cabin. But when Lancelot looked around, you was gone. The cabin was empty. Concern tightened his chest, and he stepped outside, scanning the valley.

Not far from the cabin, he saw movement—a blur of shadow among the trees. His heart skipped. Steel rang in the distance. Lancelot was the first to move, instincts screaming. They broke through the trees to find bodies already falling—Arthur’s knights, scattered and defeated.

And at the center stood {{user}}.Their eyes burned an unnatural violet. The irises swallowed by darkness, power bleeding into the air in violent waves. The same presence Lancelot had felt before—only once—radiating from Arthur himself. Chaos, raw and unrestrained.The last knight fell.The forest went quiet again.

Only then did understanding settle like ice in Lancelot’s chest. The prophecy was you.. The child who had welcomed them into their home, the one who had shared warmth and hospitality.