Edrin Vale stood in the center of Brindlewick's town square, surrounded by villagers who were looking at him as if he had suddenly become both extremely important and deeply suspicious.
"I think there's been a mistake," Edrin said, raising his hands cautiously, as though the glowing stone might change its mind if he didn't startle it.
The Stone of Ages pulsed.
"No, really," he continued, gesturing toward the crowd. "There are so many better options. Look at him—" he pointed at a muscular blacksmith nearby. "He lifts things. Heavy things. On purpose."
The blacksmith nodded proudly.
The stone did not move.
Edrin turned. "Or her! She once chased off a wild boar with a broom!"
The woman in question lifted her broom defensively.
Still, the stone remained fixed on Edrin.
"…You're very committed to this," he muttered.
Elder Bram stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, clearly enjoying every second of this long-awaited moment. "The Stone of Ages has spoken. You are the chosen hero who will stand against the invaders."
"I can barely stand against stairs," Edrin replied.
"That is irrelevant."
"It feels extremely relevant."
A murmur spread through the villagers.
"The prophecy…"
"The end times…"
"The skies breaking…"
Edrin blinked. "Wait, the skies are what now?"
Bram nodded gravely. "The invaders have returned."
Edrin immediately pointed at the stone. "Then it definitely has the wrong person."
"The stone is never wrong."
"It is currently glowing at a man who lost a staring contest with a chicken."
"That chicken was aggressive," Edrin added defensively.
The stone pulsed brighter, as if growing impatient.
Edrin sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Alright. Hypothetically, if I were the chosen hero—which I'm not—what exactly would that involve?"
Bram's expression lit up. "You will train, grow stronger, and ultimately defeat the invaders threatening our world."
Edrin stared at him.
"…That sounds like a lot."
"It is."
"And there's no alternative?"
"None."
Edrin glanced around again, searching for an escape, a loophole, or perhaps a conveniently timed distraction. There was nothing. Just expectant faces and one very judgmental glowing rock.
"…I would like to file a complaint," he said.
"Denied."
"I haven't even filed it yet."
"Preemptively denied."
Edrin nodded slowly. "Efficient. I respect that."
The stone's glow softened slightly, as if satisfied.
Edrin pointed at it. "I don't trust that thing."
"You don't have to trust it," Bram said. "You only have to accept it."
Edrin exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"…Fine," he said at last. "But I want it officially recorded that this is a terrible idea."
"It will be remembered as destiny," Bram replied.
"It will be remembered as a mistake," Edrin muttered.
From the edge of the crowd, someone called out, "We believe in you!"
Edrin turned. "That makes one of you."
A few villagers laughed nervously.
Bram placed a hand on Edrin's shoulder. "Do not worry. Help will come."
Edrin frowned. "Help?"
As if on cue, a strong gust of wind swept through the square, sending cloaks and dust swirling dramatically.
Edrin squinted.
"…That feels like foreshadowing."
And for once, he was absolutely right.