If destiny were a man, it would have to apologize to me, bring a fruit basket, and possibly pay me for the emotional damages.
I am Darius Vale; on the morning I unintentionally became important, I was attempting—and falling—to create toast.
This is important.
Magic storms tore holes in Elderglen's fantasy world, dragons sometimes fought with traffic guards, and ancient prophecies were carved into stones that no one bothered to proofread. Still, bread was the most hazardous item in my home that morning.
I stared at the toaster like it had personally offended me.
I advised, "Don't do it." "I'm familiar with your schemes."
The toaster did not respond because it was a toaster. But it promptly flung a loaf of bread at my face as though it were being compensated for it.
I dived. The toast smashed the wall, plummeted violently, then landed butter-side down.
Certainly it did.
At precisely that point the cosmos responded, Yes. This one. This unlucky buffoon would be fine.
That still eludes me. I was too busy sighing.
"I don't even like prophecies," I murmured, spooning butter off the wall. "They're ambiguous, dramatic, and never show up when you really need them." Like umbrellas."
Technically an adult, I was barely a mess at the age of my early twenties, magic was absolutely not magical. Given Elderglen was brimming with magic like a cup someone kept topping even while it was already spread all over, which was humorous.
Individuals discharged flames from their hands. While evaluating you discreetly, enchanted brooms cleaned floors. During bathing time, children unintentionally summoned frogs instead of bubbles. And me?
I tripped over a flat road once.
Twice.
On the same day. In Bramblewick's crooked neighborhood, where alleyways rearranged themselves when no one was watching and buildings leaned toward each other like chatting neighbors, I lived. Despite all my efforts, my little home reeked faintly of burnt toast and refused to budge.
Grabbing my coat, I finished my terrible dinner—one slice of unbuttered out of defiance bread.
"Nothing strange today," I said myself. "Just a standard, peaceful day."
The cosmos laughed. Loudly. Most likely with popcorn. Bramblewick was alive outside in its normal chaotic manner. One wizard debated with a mailbox that rejected Monday's letters. A woman passed riding a floating suitcase that beeped every time it collided something. Somewhere a rooster crowed even if it was obviously noon and truly too late for that.
I went towards Grindle & Son's Curiosity Shop, where I worked as "general assistant," which mainly comprised dusting enchanted items and attempting to avoid dying.
I was halfway there when the ground shook.
Not an amicable shake. A sensational, eye-catching shake.
People stopped frozen. A street lamp shouted. Yes screamed. I cease to question myself.
Like glass, the air split.
Right in front of me, a shining circle swirled with light, sparks, and the kind of sinister music only heard right before something goes horribly wrong.
I uttered "Oh no." "No, no, no. I did not register for this."
From the portal entered a guy wearing a long silver robe, resting greatly on a staff with a crystal that flickered like a dying lightbulb. His beard was gorgeous. His brows were even more gorgeous. He appeared to be old, strong, and greatly fatigued.
He turned his eyes toward me.
Relief permeated over his face.
"There you are!" he announced.
I looked behind myself.
There wasn't anybody. Just a cat licking itself and a barrel That, though it seemed suspicious nonetheless, had undoubtedly been present yesterday.
"Sorry," I said pointing at myself. "Me?"
"Yes!" He ran forward, nearly tripping on his own robe. At last, Darius Vale!"
I blinked. "Do I recognize you?"
"You are the Chosen One."
I chuckle.
I had to help myself. It erupted out of me like a sneeze.
"Oh, that's a good one," I said. "Wow. You got me for a moment there."
He looked down. I am not kidding.
Oh. That is unfortunate.
The wizard lifted his staff. The crystal flared open. Around us gasped, whispered, then steadily moved away as though this was now my fault.
"I have crossed worlds, timelines, and three extremely baffling stairways to locate you," he said somberly. You are supposed to...
I lifted a hand. Before you keep going, rapid question. By any chance, are there other Dariuses? Perhaps a greater one? better luck? Maybe heroic cheekbones?
"There are not."
"Unfortunate for everybody concerned." He sighs. "The prophesying is clear."
"Prophecies are never precise," I said. They more like to be unclear suggestions penned by someone who also appreciated riddles too highly.
The wizard's eyes twitched.
"Darkness is rising," he remarked. "Elderglen's equilibrium is collapsing. Just you have the ability to revive it.
I held tight.
He waited.
"That's it?" asked I. "No sword?" No training montage? There is no instruction manual?
"You will pick things as you travel."
"That answers a lot," I said quietly.
Another earthquake shook the route. The portal swelled.
The wizard grabbed my arm.
He replied, "Come; there is no time."
"I disagree," I stated. "I have a job, an extremely irritable boss, and a toaster that might be planning retribution."
Still, he pulled me toward the portal.
I remarked as the light swallowed us, "This is how every disaster begins." "With someone saying 'there is no time.'
As we plunged through swirling magic, my last thought before everything faded white was basic and cruelly clear:
Staying in bed would have really helped me.
And that was how destiny tripped over a banana peel—and dropped right on me.