#riverbell

[flowerygarrland]

Well

Im the nervous type of gay so heres eepy under a cut bye

[the-capos-daughter]

https://www.riverbellecasino.com/?s=bfp30166

https://www.riverbellecasino.com/?s=bfp30166

[bookwyrminspiration]

i know both are fantasy fiction but you just know when you open a book and see the main characters' name that riverbelle and khaerynis are living fundamentally different lives despite that

[fallenwish]

Base https://deviantart.com/riverbelle/art/Cats-Fighting-Lineart-459854269…

Base maker https://deviantart.com/riverbelle

[sacasinoblogs73]

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[dobakdobakdobak]

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[the-shy-artisan]

Updated Guild Card. Finally broke the 200 mark after 600+ hours of play, and I am three trophies away from platinuming this baby (friggin’ gold crowns). Been experimenting with the LBG too, it’s quite fun c:

[izzyfandoms]

The Family Before Him - Prologue

Tharia had always been a kingdom of heroes.

It had its stories: a strange mix of fact and fiction. Many of its citizens debated which tales were true and which were false: which were based in reality, and which had simply been created to inspire children, to inspire anyone who would sit still and listen for long enough.

Emile’s home town of Riverbell, situated in the south-east of Tharia, had more stories than most, and that was for one, very strange and very fantastical, reason.

SHIPS: None yet (future Remile, Patton x Nate, Logan x Toby, Janus x Andy)

WARNINGS: N/A (let me know if I’ve missed something)

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1 @yourneighborhooddisaster @alexxander-the-gay @full-of-roman-angst-trash @selfcarejanus

Masterpost

The Family Before Him Masterpost

Tharia had always been a kingdom of heroes.

It had its stories: a strange mix of fact and fiction. Many of its citizens debated which tales were true and which were false: which were based in reality, and which had simply been created to inspire children, to inspire anyone who would sit still and listen for long enough.

Emile’s home town of Riverbell, situated in the south-east of Tharia, had more stories than most, and that was for one, very strange and very fantastical, reason.

In the centre of town, sitting under the summer sun, right in Emile’s field of vision, was a temple: a beautiful, magnificent temple. It was made of marble, almost shimmering strangely like rippling water in the beams of light that shone down from the heavens, towering over all of the buildings around it, making the nearby houses and shops and stalls seem like simple children’s toys. It had tall, wide columns, perfectly carved, and a door that would let in even the tallest of men.

It seemed like a temple built for worshippers – dedicated, powerful worshippers, who had spent all their gold building the temple of their dreams – but it was not. Inside, there was something far more special.

Inside, there was Thomas.

A perfectly mundane name, Emile thought. A perfectly mundane name, and yet it belonged to someone far from that.  

It belonged to Thomas, god of heroes.

And he was who Emile was going to see today, on his 18th birthday.  

It was a special day. A birthday was special for anyone, but this was far from any ordinary birthday. Today was the day that Emile’s future would be decided.

Emile hesitated outside the door of the temple, his hand hovering over the smooth, shiny handle, his eyes focused on the dark wood. He took a deep breath – slow, getting as much air into his lungs as possible – before he placed his hand on the metal. Then, immediately after – like he had gotten some kind of static shock – he yanked his hand back.

He swallowed: his mouth as dry as bone.

Okay. He could do this. All he had to do was open the door, walk inside, and then greet the god.

The god.

All he had to do was greet the god. The god who had blessed his family for generations. The god that was going to bless him, too.

If Emile was lucky.

If Emile wasn’t lucky, he would get kicked out of the temple. He would end the line of the family of heroes; he would disappoint every ancestor of his, living or dead. He would stop something beautiful, something heroic, something that had saved countless lives.

Emile did not know if he had what it took to continue that, even if he was allowed to.

He swallowed again, and then wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt.

There was no point in worrying. He would find out his fate soon enough, whether or not he worried about it.

He hesitated for only one more moment, before he raised his hand and placed it back on the door handle. It was cool under his fingertips, almost a relief from the summer sun that beamed down on him. It seemed to watch him, judge him, though Emile knew that that was impossible. It was simply his overactive imagination: taunting him, worrying him. He knew that.

Still, it was a little difficult to do anything but worry in this situation.

Emile took another deep breath. Then, he pushed the door open. He stepped through, and was immediately struck by how cool it was inside the building, like the summer outside was a whole different world.

He took a few more steps inside and then carefully shut the door behind himself: slow, so it would make little sound. Still, the noise echoed throughout the whole building, almost seeming to shake it, making Emile flinch.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a few seconds, calming his nerves, before he cautiously opened them again, looking around the room of the temple: lit up by the sunbeams shining through the large windows.

It was mostly empty, strangely so. There were no worshippers – no priests, no prophets – simply a large, towering statue at the end of the room. It was of a man, though far taller than average, with his arms spread in a welcoming pose: almost like he was gesturing for Emile to come in for a hug, a warm embrace. The age of the man was unclear, even though the statue was strangely life-like.

Emile found himself staring at it, looking over its every little detail. Examining it, reading it like a book.

This must have been Thomas: god of heroes – the one this temple had been built for. He was handsome, undeniably so: looking exactly like Emile would have expected him to look, like he had imagined him to look as he had listened to every story his father and grandfather had told.

Emile took a hesitant step towards it.

“Hello,” came a voice from somewhere beside him.

Emile yelped, jumping and consequently tripping over his own feet. His arms flailed around as he caught his balance, his head whipping to look at the source of the voice.

Somehow, without Emile’s notice, someone had snuck up on him: emerging from the shadows to his right. Emile stared at the stranger, wide-eyed, unable to make out the details of his face in the darkness of the corner he was standing in. All he could tell was that this man was tall.

Very, very tall.

There was a second: pure silence.  

Then, it hit Emile.

This must have been Thomas.

Of course it was. No one would dare break into a temple inhabited by a god. That would be incredibly, suicidally stupid, even if Thomas was known for his mercy.

Emile yelped again, stumbling back as he bent down into a deep bow.

"Oh- oh, gosh. You must be-” he stuttered, unsure of what exactly to say and fixing his gaze on the floor below him.  

His eyes flicked down to his boots: brown leather. Spotless, thankfully. His clothes were also clean: his fathers had made sure of that before he had left. He wanted to make a good first impression on the god who would change his life forever.

Thomas laughed. He walked closer to Emile: the human could see his shoes appear just in his field of vision.

“I am,” he said. “You can stand up. You don’t need to bow. We’re all friends here.”

Emile straightened up immediately. He almost tipped over at the force of the movement, wobbling slightly, but caught his balance in only a moment. He silently cursed himself for his clumsiness, and bit his tongue to keep himself from doing so out loud.

Gods, could Emile really not embarrass himself in front of a god of all beings?

“You’re Emile Picani,” Thomas continued.

Emile nodded.

“Good, good.” Thomas smiled. He held out his hand as if he wanted Emile to shake it. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Emile Picani. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Emile reached over, taking Thomas’s hand into his own and shaking it. The skin was surprisingly cool. Emile had not expected that.

“I didn’t think eighteen years would be very long, for a god,” Emile commented.

Thomas laughed again, pulling his hand back. “I’ve been waiting for you for a lot longer than that.”

Emile blinked, a little surprised. He opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but he did not know what to say.

Thomas watched him, amused, for a few seconds, and Emile took the moment to take in Thomas’s features. He was identical to his perfect statue, just in colour: as if it had been painted by the most magnificent artist of them all. Emile could not take his eyes off him. He wore dark shoes and white robes – perfect and clean, of course – and nothing else, other than a dark, jewelled ring on one of the fingers of his right hand. It caught Emile’s eye for a moment, sparkling in the sunlight, before his gaze returned to Thomas’s face.

Thomas was still looking at him.

Emile swallowed.

“Um, so... are you going to, uh... give me my quest? And my... power?” Emile asked cautiously.

Thomas smiled again. “I will,” he said. “But not yet. First, I thought I’d tell you a story.”

Emile blinked, a little surprised.

A story?

He did not voice his confusion, but Thomas still seemed to understand it.

Thomas nodded.

“Yes, a story. Multiple stories, really.” He paused. “How much do you know of your ancestors?”

“Um, a lot, I think. Father’s been telling me all about them for years. His father, the father before him, and so on and so on.” Emile fiddled with his hands in front of him. “I can’t even remember the first time he told me about the quest that led him to meet dad.”

“Would you like to hear the stories again?” Thomas asked. “I think I could offer a... unique perspective. And it might help with the journey ahead of you.”

That made sense. Emile had heard the stories of all of his ancestors before, but the earlier ones were vague, having been passed down from father to son for multiple generations. It would be nice to hear them from someone who had been alive the whole time.

Emile nodded. “All right,” he said. "Please do.”

Thomas nodded, too, and offered Emile a smile.

“Let’s start at the beginning then,” he said. “With Patton Foster, the first in the line of heroes before you.”

[flowerygarrland]

Some more whiteboard doodles

[fuzzychildchopshop]

Baby Tweety by RiverBelle

[materializingthedisembodied]

A relic from Disneyland’s past, saved by my father from one of his many visits to the park since 1954. And yikes at the tiny design of ‘Aunt Jemima’s’ face - it could be written off as simple design shorthand given the small space allowed, but I am inclined to think it had to have been influenced by very stereotypical designs of African-Americans in art and advertising predating this. You wouldn’t imagine a white person/server being given the same kind of very simple ‘Halloween sheet ghost’ face on a promotional piece of paper goods.

The pancake house was in the current location of the Riverbelle Terrace, at the intersection of Adventureland, New Orleans Square and Frontierland.

[ladbrokesbingo-blog1]

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[the-shy-artisan]

undefined

My name is Paige and I am easily amused by silly things.

[izzyfandoms]

The Family Before Him - Chapter One

This is not the first chapter - there is a prologue, linked in the masterpost.

Tharia had always been a kingdom of heroes.

It had its stories: a strange mix of fact and fiction. Many of its citizens debated which tales were true and which were false: which were based in reality, and which had simply been created to inspire children, to inspire anyone who would sit still and listen for long enough.

Emile’s home town of Riverbell, situated in the south-east of Tharia, had more stories than most, and that was for one, very strange and very fantastical, reason.

SHIPS: Mentioned Heart x Brain (future Patton x Nate, Logan x Toby, Janus x Andy, Remile)

WARNINGS: Mentions of death (let me know if I’ve missed something)

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1 @yourneighborhooddisaster @alexxander-the-gay @full-of-roman-angst-trash @selfcarejanus

Masterpost

The Family Before Him Masterpost

Beams of sunlight shone through Patton’s bedroom window, illuminating a patch of floor just beside his bed. It did not wake him, despite its brightness, as he was far too engrossed in the dream he was having to awaken just yet.

He was stood on a long, winding road in the centre of a forest. Trees towered over him: the vegetation around him a luscious and strangely-bright green that almost hurt his eyes just looking at it. There were no animals anywhere near him, at least not any that he could see. Perhaps there were birds perched on high branches, hidden by leaves. Perhaps there were insects wriggling in the mud, but he did not check, only partly because insects were just a little bit terrifying.

Patton did not recognise where he was – it did not look quite like the forests around his home town, Riverbell, but perhaps that was because he was dreaming.

Strangely, he was fully aware of the fact that he was dreaming, unlike in most other dreams that he had had. He knew that this was not real: a vision given to him, like a prophet, but false, as far as he knew. Despite that fact, he did not have much control over his own actions: every movement like swimming through honey.

He tried to lift his arm, to raise his leg, but it was slow, difficult, and he gave up after only a few attempts, his limbs snapping back to their original placements.

The only body part that he could really move was his head. So, he looked around.

The forest was still, with not even the tiniest hints of wind to move the leaves and branches that hid the sky. Perhaps Patton would have been unnerved, given the strangeness off the scenario, but instead he was mostly just confused.

He turned his head, taking in every part of his surroundings.  

He did not know where the long, dirt road led in either direction, but he knew that he would not be able to travel either way, due to the difficulty of movement.

Patton would have sighed, but he did not need to breathe in this dream.

He turned his head one way, to his left, and squinted his eyes to look in that direction – thankfully not needing his glasses in this false world – but saw nothing except forest. He turned his head the other way, and could also not see anything.

He was about to give up, to attempt to awaken – though he was not really sure how to do that – but then, something changed.

There was something in the distance, but Patton could not see what it was. He squinted again, leaning in as much as he could without tumbling over – a slow movement, which frustrated him, but there was nothing he could do to change that.

He stared at the shape, watching it move and pulse like a misshapen bubble, until it suddenly split into two. Then, the two shapes began to move in Patton’s direction, slow at first and then speeding up. As they came towards him, the two shapes each began to turn into something. Slowly, but surely, they became shaped like... humans.

They continued to approach: Patton watching and unable to do anything. Perhaps he should have been afraid, but he found himself unable to fear those two. They did not mean him any harm, he knew that for a fact, though he did not know why.

They grew closer and closer, and by the time they were right in front of Patton, he could begin to make out some details of the two human-like shapes. They looked almost identical, though one of them had longer hair and a moustache. That one was made up of shades of green, whilst the other was made up of shades of red. They looked close to humans, but not quite, and Patton could not tell whether that was because of the fact that he was dreaming or whether they simply looked like that.

Patton’s heart swelled with fondness as he looked upon the twins, though he did not know exactly why.

He watched them pass by him, before they began to fade again. They continued into the distance until they were gone, and that was when Patton noticed that there were human-like shapes following them, also about to cross Patton’s path.

Right behind the pair was a similar-looking boy with square glasses. Behind him was a boy with dark hair and equally dark circles under his eyes. Behind him was a boy with a scar on the left side of his face. And, at the very end, there was a small boy with glasses just like Patton’s.

They all continued down the road – walking in a way that seemed akin to gliding, floating – past Patton, until they were all out of sight, and Patton was left alone in the forest once more.

He had a few moments to think about it: confused about who those people were, who he very much did not recognise, but who he knew he loved with his whole heart.

And then he woke up.

Patton shot up in bed, gasping for breath, as if the fact that he did not breathe in that dream forest had affected him in reality, too. His hand covered his heart, feeling it pound in his chest underneath the thin fabric of the shirt he wore. His blanket was bunched up around his legs, like he had twisted and turned several times in his sleep, even though he had hardly been able to move in his dream.

That dream... that had been something different about it. It had not been his usual dessert-filled delight or spider-filled nightmare. It had been something... strange.

Patton did not know what to think of it.

He took a few moments, breathing heavily, trying to sort through his disjointed memories of the dream, before he closed his eyes again.

Okay. That might have been strange, but it had just been a dream. Nothing more.

Even in the privacy of his own head, that sentence had felt like a lie.

But, still, he had no idea how to interpret that dream. What had it meant?

Patton thought about it for a little longer, before he sighed. He didn’t think he’d be able to figure that out just yet. Maybe it would come to him later. Maybe he would be struck by the epiphany of what it had meant later in the day.

Yes. He would wait for that. He trusted his own mind: he’d figure it out soon.

Patton nodded to himself, and then looked back down at his legs. He quickly untangled the blanket, pushing it to the end of the bed and freeing his legs and feet. He then climbed out of bed, the ice of the floorboards against his bare feet sending a shiver up his spine. Patton then plucked his glasses off the nightstand and slid them onto his face, his vision clearing.

He made his bed, before he raised his arms – relieved that moving no longer felt like swimming through honey, now that he was no longer in his dream – and stretched. He yawned, blinking tiredly.

And then, suddenly, his bedroom door was thrown open, hitting the wall with a bang, and Patton jumped, startled, tripping over his own feet and landing back on his bed,  

“Ah!” he yelped.

One of his fathers – Hart, to be specific – was stood in the doorway, looking down at him with an amused smile.

“Happy birthday, Pat!” he greeted happily. Then, he laughed. “Sorry for surprising you, I just got excited! You’re eighteen today: my baby boy is finally an adult!”

Patton stared up at Hart, blinking in surprise.

Today was his birthday?

The memory suddenly returned to him. Today was his birthday! He had been so distracted by his dream that he it had entirely slipped his mind.

“Oh my gosh,” Patton said, beaming. “It’s my birthday!”

He jumped back up and rushed over to his father, throwing his arms around him and squeezing him tightly. Hart hugged him back in an instant.

“It is!” he agreed. “And we have wonderful news for you.”

Patton released his father, bouncing back, still with that wide, toothy smile on his face.

“What is it?”  

Hart smiled again. He placed his hands on Patton’s shoulders, squeezing them gently.

“The prophet has asked to speak with you,” he said, his voice excited.

There was a beat, pure silence.

Patton stared at his father, immediately expecting those words to have been a lie – or a joke, or some kind of misunderstanding – but Hart did not follow his statement with a laugh. He just looked down at his son, excitement in his eyes, like he had meant every word that he had said.

“They... want to speak with me?” Patton repeated, cautious.

His fathers had always liked the prophet. They thought the prophet brought good things: foretold stories of heroes and saviours.

The prophet had always made Patton anxious. They brought just as much – maybe even more – bad things than good. Patton always tried to think positively about things, but he had seen the darkness that the prophet had brought. He did not know what to think of them.

Hart nodded enthusiastically. “They have! We received the message about an hour ago, though your father and I decided to wait until you woke up to tell you. It's your birthday, so we let you sleep in as long as you wanted.” He squeezed Patton’s shoulders once more. “Now, come on, get dressed. We have breakfast all ready for you, so you can eat that quickly and then get going.”

Patton continued to stare at his father, as if Hart would suddenly reveal that he was joking, but he still did not.  

What did the prophet want with him? To reveal some horrible future, to prophesize some wonderful fate? It was impossible to tell. The prophet’s visions weren’t always good – in fact, they often saw nothing but death: horrible, painful death. A death that could not be avoided. A death that you would just have to wait to come. A death that was never what you thought would arrive.

They would prophesize the death of a parent, but it never happened the way you’d expect. They would prophesize true love in your future, only for your ‘true love’ to be a monster. They would prophesize a quest to save hundreds, only for you to be the one to slaughter them in the end.

A prophecy could change your life for the better, or it could simply be a way for the gods to use you, or just the message that would lead to your destruction.

There was no way to know how things would turn out, no matter how many answers you begged for the prophet to give you.

Patton swallowed: his mouth dry.

No. No. He should be hopeful. This could be a good thing, this could be a wonderful, beautiful thing!

Prophecies did not always end in destruction.

And maybe it had something to do with the dream that had not felt nearly as false as it should have been. Maybe it would leave him with more answers than questions.

Okay. He could do this.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

***

Patton’s parents – both Hart and Brian – had offered to accompany him on his walk to the prophet, but he had declined. He wanted to be hopeful, to expect that his future would be anything but terrible, but he could not smother the terror that had settled inside of his chest, burrowing into his heart.

If he was going to be foretold of his death, he did not want his parents to be there for it.  

And he was the only one the prophet had requested to see, so he did not want to disobey someone so closely connected with the gods: for both his own sake and his parents.

Patton took a deep breath as he shut the front door of his house behind him. He took a single step onto the road, and then froze as if his feet had suddenly been stuck in place.

The sun hung high in the cloud-splattered sky, shining down on him as if nothing was wrong. As if his world wasn’t suddenly about to change – for better or worse, he did not know. It seemed to almost be watching him, judging him, as if it knew what would happen better than he did.

There were people gathered all around the streets: near houses and shops and stalls. They all seemed happy, content, as if nothing was going on in the world that could frighten them. He supposed that that was probably true. They weren’t the ones who had been summoned by the prophet.

A group of children ran past him, one of them kicking a small brown ball, chased by all the others.

They paid Patton no attention, but he stared at them as they ran down the street until they turned a corner and went out of sight.  

Gods, he wished he was one of them: young, playful, ignorant to the horrors that the world contained.

Patton swallowed.  

Okay. He could do this. He had to do this.

The prophet had requested his presence. He could not say no to that, lest he anger the gods, who had granted the prophet their power of foresight.

All he had to do now was take that first step.

Patton hesitated for a few moments, before he took one step away from the closed front door. Then, he took another. And another. And another. And another. And soon he found himself marching down the street, in the direction of the prophet’s temple – sitting on the outskirts of Riverbell – one of the two main temples in town. One belonged to the prophet, and one – far more rarely visited – was the one that belonged to Thomas, god of heroes.

Tharia – and Riverbell, in particular – was known for its heroes.

Maybe, one day, Patton would be one of them.  

But that all depended on the prophecy he would receive.

He swallowed again. Okay, maybe focusing on the prophecy was the wrong thing to do in this situation. That would only worry him more.  

Patton should focus on his surroundings, at least until he arrived at the prophet.

As he walked, he deliberately kept his mind more on the people and buildings around him, instead of thinking about the prophecy.

The prophecy that could end his life. The prophecy that could kill him. The prophecy that could kill everyone he had ever loved.

No. No, no, no. Patton had already decided not to focus on that.

Instead, his eyes fixed on one of the buildings he passed: one selling magical object – artifacts collected from worshippers of gods, or, even more rarely, from gods themselves. He had been in there several times: just to admire its goods, as all of them were far more expensive than Patton and his fathers could ever afford.

There were a few people standing just beside the front door of the shop. One of them was presenting a necklace to his friends, grinning triumphantly as they all talked excitedly about it.

Patton passed by them and continued his walk.

The temple wasn’t much farther, just a few more minutes: he had travelled decently far already.  

He took a deep breath, stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets.

Every time his mind flicked to the prophet, he deliberately forced it onto something else.

Don’t think about the bad things, Patton, think only about everything else.

Brian was going to bake him a cake for his birthday: chocolate, his favourite. They would be eating it all together after dinner. He had that to look forward to.

If he could even come home after the prophecy. If it was foretold that he had to do something horrible, something he couldn’t even imagine, he might never be able to see his fathers again. Or, infinitely worse, the prophecy could foretell their deaths.

Patton swallowed, squeezing the hands in his pockets into fists so tightly that his nails left indents in his palms.

He continued to walk, the dark thoughts swirling around his head, suppressed whenever possible, but Patton failed to keep his mind off the prophecy for very long at a time.

Soon, the amount of people around Patton began to lessen as he grew closer to the outskirts of town: closer to the temple. It was quieter, like the noise had faded into almost nothing, and Patton’s nerves grew with every step.

After only a little bit more of walking, the temple came into sight: towering over him with large, perfect columns and a door that intimidated Patton. He froze in place the moment he was stood in front of it: his legs shaking with nerves.

Okay. This would be fine. All he needed to do was go inside and get his prophecy. It was simple.

It was terrifying.

But there was no way to know for sure what the prophecy would be until he received it. He just needed to go in and hear it.

Patton took a deep breath.

Then, he walked up to the temple, raised his fist and knocked on the door. The sound was much louder than Patton had intended for it to be, and he winced a little at the noise.

And then, he waited.

He waited for about a minute, and then shifted nervously on the spot.

Was he supposed to just... go in, uninvited?

Well, he supposed he had been invited, technically. The prophet themself had requested his presence.

He hesitated, and then knocked again: even louder this time, the sound echoing all around him.

He glanced around nervously, like something would come from behind him, and saw that there were a few people nearby: a woman carrying a baby, two men talking quietly amongst themselves, a girl around his age with dark hair who glanced up at him when his gaze landed on her. Their eyes locked together for a second, and then she looked away again. One of the two men glanced at Patton, too, looking between him and the temple, before he gave Patton a supportive thumbs-up. He then returned to his conversation.

Patton’s nerves lessened just slightly at the encouragement from the stranger, though most of the anxiety remained nestled inside of him. He turned back to the door.

Just as he was about to raise his fist and knock again, the door was suddenly thrown open.

Patton jolted in surprise, stumbling back slightly, as a woman with curly dark hair appeared in the doorway. She gave Patton a smile, friendly.

“You must be Patton Foster,” she said. “Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”

Patton swallowed.

She took a step back, moving aside so there was room for Patton to come inside. His feet moved like they weren’t connected with his mind, pulling him into the temple, and she shut the door behind him. Most of the light in the room disappeared: the temple only illuminated by some small torches attached to the walls. The woman lifted a lit lantern, and then gestured for Patton to follow her.

He did so, looking around nervously as he trailed behind her, through a few different rooms, until they finally entered the largest of them all, with more torches on the walls, leaving large, ominous shadows in numerous places. In the centre of the room, kneeling in front of a statue, was the person who Patton assumed to be the prophet.

Patton didn’t even know their name. He didn’t think anyone did. He was almost tempted to ask – to make friendly conversation with this stranger – but decided that it would perhaps not the best idea.

He reached up and nervously adjusted his glasses.

“I’ll leave you two alone to discuss this,” the woman said.

The words ‘please don’t leave’ rose in Patton’s throat, but he did not let them slip from his tongue and through his lips. He did not want to be alone with the prophet, but the thought of angering them left an even sourer taste in Patton’s mouth.

Patton nodded, and the woman walked off, shutting a door behind her.

Once the door was shut – the sound echoing throughout the whole room – Patton was finally left alone with the prophet: the harbinger of his fate, whatever that might have been.

Patton swallowed, waiting for the prophet to speak, but they did not.  

He waited for almost an entire minute, before he realised that the prophet might have been waiting for him to speak first.

“Um... hello? I’m, uh... I’m Patton. Patton Foster.”

“I know who you are, Patton Foster,” the prophet answered in a calm, low voice.

They stood up slowly, and then turned to face Patton. They wore a cloak with a hood up, the shadows hiding most of the features of their face.

Patton hesitated for a moment, thinking, before he took a deep breath, straightening up.

He needed to be brave. The future that would come would not change depending on his mood, so he might as well face it head on and be hopeful. He might as well smother that dark anxiety and think happy thoughts instead.

He was going to be okay, he thought.  

He did not entirely believe himself.

“So, um... you have a... prophecy for me?” Patton asked awkwardly.

The prophet nodded. “I do. The vision of your and your family’s future has been presented to me by the gods.” They paused. “You are going to be very important, Patton Foster, but what is even more important than you is the family you are going to have.”

Patton blinked, surprised.

“The... family?” he asked slowly.

The prophet nodded. They then began to walk over to Patton, and it took everything inside of Patton to not step back in fear. He held his ground, staying in place, even as the prophet reached out and took each of Patton’s hands into their own.  

“Would you like to see what I've seen?” the prophet asked.

Patton nodded silently.

The prophet nodded back. They squeezed Patton’s hands and, in an instant, his vision was replaced by a series of images.

They moved so quickly, flashing pictures of people who Patton recognised, but did not know where from.

A pair of identical twins. A boy with glasses. A boy with dark circles under his eyes. A boy with a scar. Another boy with glasses, these ones just like Patton. All of them were around Patton’s age. They held swords, necklaces, rings. They gathered around campfires and caves, towers and houses.  

Then, the images were gone.

Patton stumbled, his hands slipping out of the prophet’s hands.

“What was that? Who- who are those people?” Patton asked as he caught his balance, looking to the prophet with widened eyes.

“I think you already know.”

Patton’s face creased with confusion.

They were people he already knew? But he’d never seen them before.

Then, it hit him. They were the people from his dream. The ones who had walked past him in that forest. That’s where he’d seen them before. They had been clearer in the visions than in the dream, but it was unmistakable.

But who were they?

“I- I had a dream about them. But who are they?”

“Your descendants,” the prophet said simply. “You are the start of a very important family, Patton Foster. Your family is going to help the gods. You are going to be heroes.”

Patton’s head spun.

“Heroes?” he echoed.

The prophet nodded.

“You should visit Thomas,” they said. “He’ll have a quest for you.”

“A quest?” Patton repeated.  

He felt like a parrot, but did not know what else to say.

“Yes, a quest.”

Patton hesitated, staring at the prophet, hoping they would say something: clarify what they meant.

“What kind of quest?” he asked.

The prophet shrugged. “The gods don’t tell me everything,” they answered. “I only know what I need to know: what I need to share. All I know is that your family is going to be special. You're going to be heroes: several generations of heroes. The sun god, Sol, himself, has chosen you. For what, I don’t know. I don’t know if even he knows. His omniscience does not extend to the future, unlike my god’s. But I know it’s going to be important.”

Patton stared at the prophet.

His family... heroes? He was going to be a hero?

This was... better than Patton had ever imagined. And scarier than he had ever imagined.

A strange combination of fear and excitement, anxiety and anticipation, swirled in the pit of his stomach: mixing like oil and water, sloshing around like they would overflow up his throat and burst through his lips.

“I don’t have anything else to tell you, Patton Foster,” the prophet continued. “I suggest you go to Thomas next. He will give you your quest and everything you need for it.”

There was a beat.

“O- okay,” Patton stammered.

As if summoned, the door that he had come through was opened by the same woman from before. The prophet gestured for Patton to follow her, and he silently did so: his footsteps and breaths the only sounds he made.

Soon, they were back at the entrance of the temple, and the woman pulled that door open, too. He soundlessly walked through it, and, just as he did, she spoke.

“Good luck,” she said calmly, and offered Patton a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” Patton said, unable to think of anything else to say.

Then, she shut the door, and Patton was suddenly alone.

Well, he wasn’t alone alone. There were still a few people in the street. The two talking men were still there, though the woman and baby were gone, and the dark-haired girl had disappeared, too.

Patton paid those still there little attention. They were unimportant – they had nothing to do with the fate that he had just been presented with, the fate that made his head spin. It was like he had never awoken from his dream, like this was just another part of it.

Almost outside of his own control, he lifted his hand and pinched the skin of his other hand. It hurt, just a little bit.

This was real.

Gods, this was real.

Patton did not know what to do, what to think.

What did one do when a prophet told them they were going to be a hero? That their family, their descendants, were going to be heroes? Should he celebrate, should he prepare for something unclear to him?

He had to go see Thomas, god of heroes. There was no doubt about that.

But first, he decided to talk to his fathers. If anyone would know what to do, it would be them. And, honestly, there was nothing he needed more in that moment than to see his family.

[flowerygarrland]

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