The Boundless Prophecy

Chapter 1 (1.5 Naevys - The Legendary Elf Diva)

As Jaglee poured the final glass of whiskey, he leaned in and whispered, "Watch your words." He gestured subtly towards the entrance, prompting a collective grimace at the table, especially from Wallace.

At the bar's threshold stood the journalist they despised above all others—Scorch. The glint of the bar lights illuminated his bald, polished head, a black notebook tucked under his left arm. His sweeping gaze seemed to hunt for prey, eventually fixating on the healer's corner.

Scott's face twisted into a mixture of disgust and disdain as the journalist began to advance. "Not him again," he sneered.

The mere sight of Scorch soured the wine lingering in Wallace's mouth. Of all people, encountering a journalist, especially this one, was the last thing he desired. Memories flooded back—unpleasant encounters, fabricated stories spun from their interviews, and the turmoil Scorch had inflicted upon him.

Caren remained impassive, her conduct unyielding. She had rebuffed Scorch's interview requests countless times, and he had learned not to press his luck any further.

Attempting to provoke the stoic Caren, who was seemingly devoid of emotion, Scorch resorted to fabricating and exaggerating hearsay.

Her response was as cold as ice, "I can't fathom how this journalist penned so much about me when I've never spoken to him, unaware of many facts." Her frigid remarks and refusal to engage rendered the journalist's writings feeble-minded.

Meanwhile, Wallace was acquainted with the notorious Scorch but had reluctantly agreed to the interview due to Scorch's familial ties with the sanatorium's deputy dean—cousins by relation. Wallace acquiesced to the interview at the behest of this connection. Throughout, he made sure Scorch sensed his reluctance. As expected, the interview yielded nothing but a distorted narrative.

Scorch diligently transcribed every word Wallace uttered into his little black notebook, yet twisted each one into a concoction of half-truths and fabrications. The blend of reality and falsehoods in Scorch's story made it challenging for Wallace to counter. The resultant article insinuated discontent among the sanatorium staff towards the dean's leadership, hinting at the need for his resignation.

The dean, astute enough to trace the article's origins, refrained from faulting Wallace for the ordeal. This prompted a profound sense of remorse and apology within Wallace for the unfortunate situation. During their monthly meeting, however, the deputy dean chastised Wallace, attributing the troubles solely to his choice of words, absolving himself of any involvement in the saga he had instigated.

As Scorch advanced, his eyes gleamed with an insatiable hunger, hinting at his determination to extract information about the massacre from them. Truth be told, they were scarcely informed about it themselves.

"Hello, healers," Scorch greeted them with a wave, his smile reeking of hypocrisy. The contortion of his mouth and moustache only served to augment his repulsiveness.

Jaglee, holding a serving tray, intervened, "Hi, Scorch. Good to see you. What can I get for you?" Familiar with Scorch's nature, Jaglee wished to expedite their departure to spare the healers from impending discomfort.

The journalist responded with a half-acknowledgment, half-amusement wave towards Jaglee. "I'll have what the healers are having," he quipped, gesturing playfully towards their food and drinks before placing his notebook on the table. He commandeered a chair from the bar counter and settled in next to Wallace.

Even Xanthe, disapproving of his actions, frowned, mustering the politest tone she could manage, "Scorch, this table is set for five, and it's starting to feel a bit crowded." Her honesty mirrored the discomfort evident in everyone's uneasy shuffling in their seats.