The night had long since reached its peak, and the moon was on course to set. Zherros dragged Django to the final place he had planned for tonight. After that, it was time to somehow get back into the castle... but Django decided to cross that bridge when he got to it.
Truly, the small tent was nothing special. It was simple, blue canvas draped over some support poles, with ornate carpets depicting scenes similar to tarot cards adorning the exterior. A small sign simply read: "Fortune Telling." There was a faint scent of incense wafting through the air; and Django could hardly tell if it was a legit practice or not, until Zherros started talking.
"Apparently, this is tha' best fortune teller around, and she's like...*really good* at predictions."
Django frowned. "You sure? I doubt someone of such high skill would just be... out here. In the middle of nowhere."
Calling it "in the middle of nowhere" wasn't entirely true, but it had a fair amount of accuracy. Unlike most attractions, the tent was off to the side, hidden from the main street view by other tents and part of a wall. It was situated in a very *sketchy* manner, like one could expect to get mugged next to.
"I'm pretty sure whoever is in here is just going to spout some generalized nonsense and then demand five silver or whatever." Django continued, unaware of Zherros walking up and ducking under the entrance of the tent.
Noticing his friend abandoned him for the excitement of the fortune telling, Django sighed and followed suit.
---
If the outside was the epitome of simple and unassuming, the inside was the perfect antithesis. The sheer amount of stuff was staggering, from hanging herbs and other plants, to various books with titles in languages Django didn't understand, to all sorts of other miscellaneous bits and bobs, which purposes Django couldn't begin to decipher. Baffled, he looked to where Zherros was.
Sitting in the middle of the tent was a small table, housing what looked to be a crystal ball, along with some cards and more random knickknacks. Zherros was busy rambling off to the teller, who was nodding their hooded face. Taking a seat next to him, Django nudged Zherros to get him back on track.
Disrupted, Zherros finally noticed Django's presence.
"Ah, there ya' are! Was just explaining ourselves to this fine practitioner of the mystical arts, and I think now we're ready for some readings!"
The fortune teller chuckled in a wispy voice.
"Very well," the voice spoke, faint and empty, like an echo, "I shall predict your futures. And on the house too, for tonight is such a night in which one like myself can afford such charities."
The robed figure hunched closer to the crystal ball, and looked up. "Shall I read the young gentleman with brown hair first?" Zherros flashed a thumbs up, and the seer began to wave their hands over the crystal ball.
As the teller whispered under their breath and their hands weaved in the air around the ball, the formerly clear crystal became clouded as if besieged by a storm. Zherros looked on in delight, while Django merely rolled his eyes.
As the storm began to fade, the teller sat back, seemingly finished, but in thought. The seer grabbed a set of what looked like bone shards and tossed them on the table. After examining them for a moment, they finally seemed satisfied.
"...Interesting. Vague." The seer looked at Zherros. "Your future is strange, young man. It is much more... prophetic, than most."
Zherros was clearly intrigued. "Go on," he said.
The seer seemed happy to oblige. "I see a man sitting in piles of gold, in a hall of fire. A crowd of people stand before him, looking for guidance. Some call him the sun, some the moon. Others still call him-"
The seer said something in a tongue Django could not understand, and could barely even hear, like the words were fuzzy in the air.
"...meaning "blade of red" in the old tongue, I know not what that means for you." Looking at Django, the seer chuckled. "Quite a perplexing one here, hmm?"
Django couldn't help but be a little curious now.
"My turn."
The seer obliged. Once again facing the crystal ball, the clouds once again appeared. As the teller watched the ball, however, something changed. The intensity of the reading seemed to increase. Small lightning strikes began to appear inside the ball, and Django could almost feel the wind whipping around.
Except that wasn't just a feeling. As the hands of the fortune teller became more frantic, so to did the wind. Candles began to extinguish, papers and objects began to whip around, and the edges of the tent began to budge and warp with the wind.
Thoroughly spooked, Django and Zherros started to inch back. Slowly, they moved as far away as they could, until the fabric of the tent stopped them. Their eyes were glued to the crystal, which now was a nearly cataclysmic storm.
'This isn't a hoax.' Django thought. 'This is a seer. A true one. Oh gods...' What was a true seer, the pinnacle of oracle arts, doing here, in a ramshackle tent in the middle of a festival? To read the future of a child cursed by the heavens... what would happen now?
His answer came in the form of a blast of lighting inside the crystal ball more powerful than any before it, and with a resounding bang! The ball shattered into a million pieces, shrapnel plunging into the tent's fabric left and right, narrowly missing Django and Zherros.
The seer, who now appeared as spooked as the pair of boys, turned to look directly at Django. Despite not being able to see their eyes, Django could feel their gaze.
"Out." The voice had gained more clarity, no longer a faint whisper. "I should have known not to see into your future. I could smell the mark on you from a mile away. Now GET OUT!"
As the seer's voice grew louder and the boys scrambled back out of the tent, Django couldn't help himself but look back one more time.
"I need to know!" he shouted, "what did you see?" Before him was a true seer, one with enough power to predict a cursed future... what did they see? What was his future? He wanted to know - no, he had to know.
The seer was frothing with anger. "Be advised, Prince Django Greyern of Miklagard, that it is not what you know that will destroy you, but the lust for what you don't. Now begone, before I force you to leave by other methods."
Bowing his head quickly in thanks, Django bolted out.
Looking at the remains of the crystal ball, the seer released a short breath. Grabbing the deck of cards off the table, which somehow had not blown away in the chaos, the seer shuffled as they murmured. Tossing the cards in the air, the seer anxiously awaited to see which of the many cards would land face up. One by one, they landed face down on the grass under the tent, until only one remained, laying face up.
Picking the card up to look at it, the seer muttered a short curse and started to pack everything up as quickly as possible, repeating the name of the card over and over again in their head.
Omen. An omen of death.