Prophecy’s Duality

Komodo Island — The Cliffside Overlook. The wind sharpened, slicing through the tropical dusk like a blade. Clouds thickened above the sea, their bellies dark with thunder, and the first flicker of lightning danced across the horizon. It cast a spectral light on the object in David’s hands—the Crown glinting, its serpentine engravings momentarily alive, as if they moved on their own.

The air around them thrummed, heavy with the weight of something unseen. Storm and prophecy. Past and future.

David stared into the distance, jaw tight. “They think I’m the Tenth Dragon,” he muttered, voice low.

Thalia turned to him, the wind tossing strands of her hair across her face. “You are,” she said softly. “But the prophecy doesn’t bind you. It gives you a choice.”

He didn’t look at her. “A choice,” he echoed bitterly. “Like choosing whether to breathe. Or drown.”