The prince felt unease settle deep within him.
"What do you mean by… mould?"
The Priest turned his covered gaze toward him.
"I mean exactly that," he said softly. "Mould."
A pause.
"Over time, the bodies of the afflicted become overrun. The growth spreads across their skin…"
His head tilted slightly, as though listening to something beyond the room.
"…and it feeds."
The air seemed to grow heavier.
"It feeds on them," the Priest continued, "until there is nothing left."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Nothing but mould… and perhaps a trace of blood."
Silence.
Then—
The King spoke again, his voice tighter this time.
"Is it contagious?"
The Priest shrugged.
The casualness of the gesture made Icarus' stomach turn.
"We do not yet know," he said. "We took no chances. The afflicted were isolated immediately."
"We approached them with care—divine instruments, protective measures, everything required."
A pause.
"We attempted healing."
Icarus leaned forward.
"And?"
The Priest's voice lowered.
"It works."
Hope flickered—
"And then," he continued, "it doesn't."
The hope died just as quickly.
"It subsides for a time," the Priest said. "The mould recedes…"
His smile returned.
"…and then it comes back."
The King's fingers tightened around the arm of his throne.
"How many?"
The answer came without hesitation.
"Approximately three hundred."
Rage ignited in the King's eyes.
"Three hundred?" he snapped. "And you chose not to inform me sooner?"
Icarus reached out, placing a hand on his father's shoulder.
"Father. Please."
The Priest only smiled.
"What could you have done, my King?"
Icarus stilled.
He's right.
What could we have done…?
"Perhaps," Icarus said slowly, "this is not a disease."
Both men turned to him.
"Perhaps it's a creature. Something causing this—something we can hunt."
The Priest shook his head.
"The countryside falls under the domain of the Temple of the God of the Future."
His tone carried quiet certainty.
"We know every creature that resides within it."
"There is nothing our sight does not reveal."
He paused.
Then—
"But this… is not why I came."
The King's gaze sharpened.
"Then speak plainly."
The Priest turned toward him fully now.
"We are blessed with divine sight," he said. "We do not see the world before us…"
"…but we see what is to come."
"The stronger one is, the further they see."
His head tilted.
His hair shifted slightly, like something stirred by an unseen wind.
"My brethren advised silence."
A faint smile.
"I chose otherwise."
The King leaned forward.
"What did you see?"
The Priest's smile widened—thin, hollow.
"Your kingdom will fall."
A pause.
"And there is nothing you can do to stop it."
Silence.
Absolute.
["The Blind Prophet" has spoken a prophecy.]
["The Blind Prophet" has spoken an inevitable truth.]
[The truth has been declared.]
Icarus looked at the Priest, his gaze turning cold.
"Then we will simply change the future."
The Priest's smile didn't fade.
But for a moment—
it sharpened.
"You may do what you see fit, dear Prince."
He sounded amused.
As though the outcome had already been decided.
The King's restraint shattered.