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The Chosen One—we wish for his appearance every day. We know, Goddess has the best plan. But, pray tell, Goddess, who is the Chosen One? When shall the Chosen One emerge to the face of this insolent earth, to purify our sinful beings? We seek for salvation; we desire for forgiveness. 

O’ Chosen One, we wish for destiny to guide the Nightingale to you; the beautiful bird who sings of peace. We wish for your heart, full of love, to unfold the power within the immortal being. We wish for you to harmonize the Lullaby of Peace that Nightingale sings of. We wish for you to reignite the strength within the lovely bird, to hold reign over the darkness.

O’ Chosen One, do salvage our sinful souls, as we yearn for Goddess’ loving hands.

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Before he broke into a mental mess, steps were slowly approaching him. Elliot lifted his head, eyes trying to find the source of the sound. Turned out, it was Henrique, who seemed to be just as surprised to find Elliot in the library.

Elliot gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. “Father,” he greeted.

Henrique replied with a nod as brief. “My son,” he said, as he approached Elliot. “Whatever could bring you here, may I ask?”

Elliot smiled bitterly. “I... am unsure of it myself, Father,” he admitted, slumping on his chair. His shoulders fell, as though the burden finally dragged him down.

Surprisingly concerned, Henrique pulled a chair across his son, sitting himself down to console his son. Henrique leaned closer to Elliot, putting his elbows on the library table. He eyed his son for a good second before starting to talk, “Tell me, my son. Are you burdened by the responsibility that you are carrying?”

With the question, Elliot realized he could let go of himself. He dropped his shoulder, relaxing his posture. “I... am,” he admitted, though a bit of shame emerged within him. His gaze dropped, as the shame continued to consume him. “I... do not know what it is that I am going to face. And when. I don’t know if I will be ready by then.”

Henrique relaxed his own posture. “Do not be ashamed of your inability, son,” he assured. “Lift your head up. Look into my eyes.”

Though hesitant, Elliot flitted his gaze up to meet his Father’s eyes. Henrique smiled faintly, reassuring him. Elliot tried to bring himself up, not to be dragged down by despair.

Seeing the courage in his son’s eyes, Henrique faintly smiled a hint of proudness. “Do you believe in Goddess’ plan, my son?” he asked.

The question surprised Elliot, but without hesitation, he answered, “I do, Father.”

The corner of Henrique’s eyes creased as his faint smile grew.

“However, I shall admit,” Elliot shied away. “I do not quite understand Her reason of choosing my insignificant self.”

“The Chosen One,” Henrique started his explanation. “is the one chosen specifically by Goddess to help Her, as the world is nearing the end.”

Elliot nodded, indicating that he was listening closely to his explanation.

“Goddess is losing control over Her power. She needs a catalyst to contain Her power so as to not destroy Her world,” Henrique continued. “And that person is you—the one She chose was you. You are meant to keep the world’s peace.”

“But, Father,” Elliot denied. “Is it not Praesidio’s duty to keep the world’s peace?”

Henrique nodded in agreement. “It, indeed, is the Praesidio’s duty, my son. Alas, we are no longer able to carry our duty as meant to be.”

Elliot tilted his head a little, focusing his hearing on his Father.

“To be able to carry out our duty, we need Goddess’ own power. How are we to do that if She is not able to do that Herself?” Henrique explained further. “We are not capable of doing so because Goddess is no longer able to. That is why, She requires a new catalyst—and it is you, Elliot, the Chosen One and your Nightingale.”

Elliot’s gaze darkened. Again, that reality of his punched him in the face.

“All we could do as Praesidio is to use the remaining balanced power for deception and transient assurance. We can no longer fix the imbalance by ourselves,” Henrique shook his head in despair. His head drooped as he continued, “I am sorry, my son, Praesidio is not doing good and it has been weighting our mind also. I should have been the one lifting your burden, but alas, it seems to backfire instead.”

Elliot was speechless. His thoughts were jumbled in anxiety as the burden seemed to worsen instead. “Should I... out myself to Praesidio?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Henrique shook his head persistently. “No,” he objected decisively. “I will not send you straight to Praesidio. I will not feed my son to the wolves in sheep clothes.”

Elliot lifted his face in an instant; desperation painted on his face. “But—why? Don’t you want to save the world?” he demanded, though frantic.

Henrique nodded in uncertainty. “I do want to save the world, my son,” he agreed. “And I believe to save the world, I shall not package you straight to the hunters.”

Elliot didn’t understand his Father’s words. He tried to make out a coherent sentence, though his hands flailed in a strange movement as his anxiety corroded his mind. “I—but, haven’t Praesidio heard of my prophecy?” he stuttered.

“No, the prophecy is administered straight to us—the main family of Alskar,” Henrique corrected. “A Behalter’s prophecy reading is transferred through the Sword’s power. Only those who possess the linkage of Alskar power can hear the prophecy of an Alskar.”

Elliot let the words seeped in. Only then he realized how he understood very little of his family lineage. Suddenly, shame overtook him. The thought of holding such an important role in a critical time, while also knowing near to nothing of that matter, he seemed like an idiot. Though, something clicked in his mind. “But—didn’t  Charlotte hear of my prophecy?”

Henrique’s eyebrows furrowed. Crossing his hands in front of his chest and leaning to his chair, he was thinking. “She might—which was strange, indeed—but she might have not,” Henrique tilted his head to the side. “Charlotte, and Victoria, too, have known of your fate ever since you were young, Elliot. They saw the Chosen One’s birthmark when you were young.”

“Birthmark?”

Henrique nodded. “The Chosen One has a birthmark on his back, a shape of half a heart with a wing. It, indeed, is a specific design. Hard to be mistaken, I suppose,” Henrique recalled. “Victoria and Charlotte asked when they were young, why was your birthmark of strange shape. According to them, it is on the left side of your back, around the shoulder. Though,” Henrique’s eyebrows furrowed deeper, tapping his chin slightly as he recalled a strange detail. “I do not recall ever telling either of them about the birthmark.”

Elliot sat still, unable to digest the abrupt information over information thrown at his face.

Noticing Elliot’s confusion, Henrique’s expression softened. “Fear not, my son,” he said at last, as he regained control over his tone. “You shall not be alone. You have me, your Mother, your sister—and you have your Nightingale.”

Henrique’s last word enticed more questions in him. “What is my Nightingale?” he asked.

“A bird—no, an immortal,” Henrique explained. “Nightingales were Goddess’ most loved birds, as they helped Her in a lot of ways. Nightingales were beautiful singing birds whose company was always desired by Goddess.”

Elliot stayed silent, waiting for Henrique to continue.

“She entrusted you, the Chosen One, with Her favorite birds—the beholder of power,” Henrique continued. “In a form of an immortal that requires your love; just like how Nightingales require Goddess’ love.”

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