The threat of The Script hadn't been out of Elias's mind since it first came out.
"The Reader dies in the streets three nights from now."
It hung over him like a storm cloud. Every sound in the dark, every shadow that moved at the edge of his vision seemed like it could be the instant the prophecy was due.
By morning, tension had knitted itself into his muscles. Aric could see even as they approached the training grounds.
"You're tense," the mage observed. "As if you're bracing yourself for a blow."
"Perhaps I am," Elias growled.
Aric's eyes narrowed. "The Script said something to you."
"Yeah."
"Say it."
Elias paused. He didn't know if saying it made it true—or if letting it die could be worse. "It said I'm going to die. In the streets. Three nights from now."
Arik didn't seem shocked. "Then we switch the streets. Or the night."
The Warden wasn't as even-tempered when Elias told him.
"If it's true, then you're not going out of the barracks at night for the next three days," the Warden commanded.
Elias frowned. "And if it happens during the daytime?"
"Then you'll be in the company of my best men." The Warden leaned on the table, gaze sharp. "The Script doesn't lie, but it doesn't tell the whole truth either. Use that."
Despite the warning, the day's duties didn't change. Elias found himself assigned to help with a messenger run across the city—accompanied by one of the Warden's lieutenants, a tall woman named Brynn with a scar along her jaw.
The city beyond the walls of the central ward was another from market square and barracks. Curving streets, leaning buildings cobbled with unmatching wood, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat and tanneries. Here, banners of a few factions hung side by side—or were slashed and burned outright.
Brynn walked unselfconsciously, delivering sealed letters to merchants, guildmasters, and even a temple whose steps were of marble and high.
"Politics are spilling out onto the streets," she said to him when they left the temple. "The Crown can't keep the peace on its own. The Guilds want more liberty. The Church is convinced it's the gods' will. And the Wild Orders…" She shrugged. "They want chaos."
"And the Warden?" Elias asked.
"He wants the city to survive long enough for the next generation to worry about rebuilding it."
By the time they returned to the barracks, the sun was low, shadows reaching out far across the cobblestones. Elias felt the pressure of the Script's clock ticking at the back of his head.
That night, he stayed in his quarters. Not because he was afraid—at least that's what he kept telling himself—but because he wanted to watch for signs.
Nothing happened. The second night was the same.
It was the third night he let his guard down.
It started with uproar in the courtyard—yelling, the sound of boots on stone. Elias reached for his sword and came out to find two soldiers pulling a fighting man through the gates. The man's clothes were in tatters, his face bloodied, but his voice carried.
"They've got my daughter!" he shouted. "Please, someone—someone has to go! They'll kill her!"
The Warden appeared, grim-faced. "Where?"
"South quarter—old tannery! Raiders—two of them—took her!"
Elias's gut twisted. He knew the prophecy. He knew he should keep to the barracks. But his feet were already moving.
"I'll go," he said.
The Warden's eyes hardened. "You'll go with Brynn. And you'll come back."
The south quarter at night was a world of its own—narrow streets, smoke rising from fires not yet visible, the air snapping with the scent of ash and leather.
Brynn led the way, sword drawn, eyes constantly watching in the darkness.
They reached the tannery safe. The building loomed over them, its broken windows like empty eyes. A small light flickered in the inside.
Brynn held up her hand, calling for quiet. They moved in through doorway.
The interior was a maze of racks and vats, shadows pouring out in all directions. Voices murmured from somewhere deep within the building.
Brynn moved silently as water, Elias behind her. They made a turn and halted.
The girl was present—bound to a chair, staring wide-eyed. One raider stood over her, the other against the wall with a dagger.
Brynn did not hesitate. She sprinted forward, blade glinting. Elias came after her, cutting down the second raider before he could swing his weapon to bear.
It was too quick. Brynn let the girl go, whispering comforting words.
That's when the ground gave way.
It was no accident. The rotten boards had been cut, sabotaged. Elias plummeted into darkness, wind driven from his lungs as he landed on stone.
Above, Brynn's voice shouted his name—but something other than that lurked in the shadows.
The Script flared in his vision.
"The Reader dies in the streets three nights from now."
Elias's blood ran cold. This was it.
A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, hooded, face hidden under a hood. The glint of steel in one hand reflected the dim light above.
Elias struggled to his feet, sword raised. "You arranged this."
The voice of the figure was a low, strained one. "The gods have no need for Readers."
It struck.
The fight was a brief and bloody one. The assassin's strikes were precision-crafted, and Elias was forced back into the wall. Sparks sent off where metal met. Elias's arms ached from the exertion of blocking each strike.
A slash burned across his side, pain exploding simultaneously. He clenched his teeth, striking back with a desperate swing that sent the assassin back from him.
Distantly, Brynn's voice. "Hold on!"
The assassin moved forward, their blade flashing at Elias's throat.
Instinct—and maybe something beyond that—took over. He parried, driving his sword home.
The blade sank deep. The assassin stiffened, then crumpled.
Brynn's hand descended, pulling him back onto the floor of the tannery. The girl was already being escorted out by the soldiers who had arrived as reinforcements.
Elias laid a hand on his side, blood seeping through his fingers. "Guess the Script was wrong."
Brynn looked at him like she wasn't so sure. "Or maybe it was right, and you just rewrote it."
That night, while he lay resting in the healer's hall, the Script returned.
"The Reader will be presented with the choice: save one, or save many."
And for the first time, since waking in this world, Elias wondered if living would be the simple thing.