The burning chicken was still squawking overhead when the knights fell to their knees.
Their armored gauntlets clanged against the ground, their helmets bowed as if the sun itself had descended.
"Hero! Chosen of the prophecy!" the leader shouted. His eyes blazed brighter than the fireball-poultry.
Me? I was two seconds away from fainting.
"Uh, no, no, no. I think you guys got the wrong idiot," I stammered, waving my hands. "I'm just a normal guy. My greatest battle skill is surviving Monday meetings."
The knights didn't even blink.
Another one gasped, pointing at the fiery chicken that was slowly circling like a divine sign.
"It is exactly as the sacred scriptures described—the Flame of Poultry shall descend when the Hero arrives!"
Sacred scriptures? Flame of Poultry? Was that supposed to be a thing?
I squinted up at the chicken. It was on fire, flapping like mad, yet somehow… not dying. Honestly, it looked more annoyed than divine.
"Listen," I tried again, "this is just a coincidence. I don't know how this happened. Maybe you've got a magician backstage throwing poultry into volcanoes, I don't know!"
The leader stood tall, armor gleaming, and declared:
"No. The prophecy is clear. The Hero's first miracle will defy logic and reason. What could be more illogical than a flaming chicken?"
I opened my mouth, ready to argue—and that was my mistake.
Because once again, panic hijacked my mouth. Words spilled out before my brain could stop them:
"W-Well, obviously the prophecy was written on… uh… toilet paper! Yeah. Cosmic toilet paper from the gods themselves!"
Silence.
Twenty knights stared at me. My heart stopped.
Then the leader slammed his fist to his chest.
"Toilet paper from the heavens… to cleanse the filth of evil! Brilliant!"
The others murmured in agreement. "The Hero speaks truth."
"Divine toilet paper… the perfect metaphor."
"It makes so much sense!"
No. No, it didn't. None of this made sense.
I wanted to cry. Instead, I plastered on what I hoped was a wise smile. "Y-Yes. And only the unworthy would… run out of paper at the worst time."
Gasps all around.
Truly, I was doomed.
⸻
The knights practically carried me out of the glowing forest. I barely had time to look back at the still-burning chicken, which had given up flapping and was now just circling like a confused meteor.
As we marched, I asked the obvious: "So where exactly are you taking me?"
"To the capital," the leader said. "The king must meet you immediately. The Demon Lord has returned."
Of course. Demon Lord. Every fantasy world needed one, like a starter pack.
I sighed. "Can I, you know, go home first? Take a shower? Maybe change into pants that aren't stained with mortal terror?"
No answer. They just kept marching.
⸻
By the time we reached the city gates, I'd collected more stares than a man walking a giraffe on a leash. The knights shouted, "Make way for the Hero!" and suddenly I was paraded through cobbled streets lined with cheering peasants.
Children threw flower petals. Merchants shouted blessings. An old lady tried to touch my shoe for luck.
Me? I whispered under my breath, "I'm one sneeze away from killing everyone here by accident."
Because that was the truth: I didn't know how my nonsense worked. Did it have limits? Could I trigger earthquakes by claiming hiccups cause plate tectonics? Could I summon dragons by declaring that bananas are lizards in disguise?
The thought terrified me. And thrilled me.
⸻
Inside the royal palace, the king sat on a golden throne, his beard longer than my future. He leaned forward eagerly as I was shoved to the center of the hall.
"So this is the Hero," he said. "Tell me, brave one, what is your power?"
All eyes turned to me. Courtiers, nobles, guards—dozens of them.
Sweat ran down my neck. Think. THINK.
And then, of course, my mouth betrayed me again.
"I, uh… I can summon invisible ducks that bite the ankles of evil men."
A noble scoffed. "Invisible ducks? Absurd."
FWIP. The noble yelped, clutching his leg. "Something bit me!"
The hall erupted. The king stood, eyes wide. "It is true!"
And that's when I knew—I was doomed to live as a liar, forever inventing nonsense or risk exposure.