Velvet stretched a bit, extending her hands and snatching the knitting needles from the Prophet, who in turn waved its now empty hands around, grasping at the empty air a few times before stopping.

She wanted to ask at first why wait until Dianthus got kidnapped to save him, instead of preventing it, but the Prophet itself had already given enough clues to know the answer.

It didn’t see Dianthus getting kidnapped, but then it saw the aftermath of the kidnapping, when Dianthus lost both his destiny as the Chosen One and the fate’s corruption.

Which didn’t make sense.

“If you know many things of the past fate corruption’s actions, by seeing the consequences of its surroundings… that means that just the existence of fate’s corruption makes you unable to see Dianthus in the past, present and future.”

“You shouldn’t be able to see the paths where he comes out still carrying the fate’s corruption, only the ones where he loses. And yet, something happens in those that makes you believe I can influence them.”

“I know my abilities better than anyone, same as my limits. I can’t defeat an Archmage, the same way I cannot defeat Dianthus. You can also say I can’t defeat fate.”

“What I am is a timebomb connected to something deep below.” Velvet lifted the cloth, putting it between her and the Prophet, staring at the latter through the holes. “And I’m getting the feeling that your plan is to send me there just to blow myself up.”

“The problem you want to solve is Permafrost. Me and the Chained Man are something else. Something else that you might want to solve while you are at it.”

The Prophet stared at her in silence, its face slowly curling into a smile. “You want a guarantee of safety.” It wasn’t a question.

“Clever.” Velvet said. “Did you get that from my mind, or made your own conclusions?”

“Guess. But I can guarantee that I won’t backstab you.”

“That’s not what I want. I want six months of absolute protection on the Mergifari, starting from the moment I leave the Archmage’s pocket dimension.”

“Assuming you leave it.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Would you bet against a Prophet?”

“A Prophet? No. A blind Prophet? Yes.” Now it was Velvet’s turn to grin. “You can’t see what will happen there, am I wrong? You only see the aftermaths of the doomed routes, the ones where Dianthus lost his fate. So, for you to send me, there can only be one reason…”

“You can’t see that future. Not until it becomes the past and the aftermath arrives.”

“And yet, I can see everything until the moment you enter. Like this whole conversation.”

“Then you will know what I will say.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“For us to make a deal, so that I can’t go back on my promise. But, since we are not demons, we can’t use the name of the Father of Hell. Therefore, you will suggest using the Father of Fairies.”

“And then?”

“I will refuse, and instead we will use the Father of the Forge’s True Name. A completely neutral party.”

“Hmm…” It wasn’t bad, still a Deriliam, so it wasn’t like she could complain. She was simply more familiar with Lothrigern, but she knew that the forge Deriliam was the one that Paramus Traversa taught her, Baetylus. Maybe that was why the Prophet suggested that one, aware that Velvet would refuse any unknown Deriliam. “Good.”

…

Unlike the time she made the deal with Frenese, this time it was faster, only taking ten minutes.

Probably because the Prophet already knew how the deal’s terms would go, so it skipped the negotiation, to Velvet’s dismay.

She liked doing the back and forth thing, but doing it to someone who already knew what she would say, think and do was a loss of time. Even so, she still reviewed the contract, searching for any clause that the Prophet could’ve slid underhandedly.

She didn’t find any, which probably was because the Prophet had already foreseen her rereading the deal. What a pain.

In fact, the Deal was quite simple. If Velvet managed to get Dianthus out, with him still being the Chosen One, she would have six months of guaranteed protection.

Protection guaranteed by the Mergifari’s Director herself.

Velvet had already deduced that the island was made by an extremely powerful mage. She suspected another Archmage, but when the Prophet revealed that mage being the Director herself, everything clicked.

A mage capable of breaking space itself, to drag her from a pocket dimension to another in an instant, concealing her Esca, links with familiars, and making an island from scratch. Something that would be impossible for almost every mage.

It was impossible, actually. If she were to do it alone. The Prophet did help the Director to pinpoint her exact location, and also was the reason for Tristan’s artifact to connect to the Traversa’s pocket dimension.

A proof of goodwill, that’s what the Prophet called it. Bullshit, she thought, since Velvet knew it was so that Charon or anyone didn’t see her getting yoinked. Unlike the pocket dimensions that Velvet visited to deliver Tristan’s artifacts, the Traversa’s pocket dimension was the only one where she wasn’t being watched by another mage.

Both of them knew that the other also knew, so the Prophet was just being condescending on purpose.

She really suspected that the ‘beings related to fate are annoying about it’ theory was more of a fact than a theory.

Back to the deal, the Prophet only wanted a Chosen One Dianthus, and made no mention of bringing back the fate’s corruption inside him. But, since sending Velvet made it unable to see the consequences, it might be unavoidable.

Wordlessly, Velvet extended her hand, motioning to start sealing the deal.

“I, Carion, offer this deal under Baetylus.” Different from the time when she said Andras' name, this time Velvet felt a heavy weight pressing her down, as if she was having a mountain dropped on top of her.

Her body started to feel rigid, and a silvery, metallic glint grew from her skin, appearing in some spots before moving to others.

If she had to compare it to something, it was like the petrification spell monsters like the gorgons inflicted upon being looked at, but with silver instead of stone.

“I, Velvet, accept this deal under Baetylus.”

The instant she finished speaking, confirming the deal, all the silver spots crawled towards her chest, sinking into her heart, a stabbing, piercing pain shooting through her body.

Like a silver dagger crossing her soul, the deal had been sealed.

…

After several minutes Velvet took a last deep breath, the painful, stabbing feeling receding and progressively becoming bearable.

She didn’t stop feeling the stab, the metaphorical weapon lodged inside her heart, but it eventually stopped hurting, unless she focused on it.

As long as she ignored its existence, she wouldn’t feel it.

“The Deal has been sealed. Now, tell me about the aftermaths of the doomed futures.”

The Prophet breathed profusely, its position slightly hunched, more sensible to pain than Velvet. Well, it looked fragile, and knowing the approaching pain beforehand didn’t make it hurt less.

“The Archmage never comes out.” It said, after a whole minute of ragged breathing. “He always dies inside, and Dianthus comes out.”

A Dianthus no longer being the Chosen One. That’s to say, a mortal Dianthus.

If what the Prophet said was the truth, that meant that, between the time when Dianthus got kidnapped and he lost his fate, something killed the Archmage.

The biggest possibility was Dianthus himself. Even when the one in Velvet’s dream was sleeping peacefully, Dianthus was still a very strong, unfaltering, immortal mage that never ran out of magic or stamina, nor accumulated miasma, something most other mages had to worry about.

So, even if he ended up losing, it didn’t mean that he went down without fighting.

He had managed to hold Frenese back while Velvet sealed the book. She didn't know if he did so by becoming a glorified chew toy for the Devil, or if they actually fought. Maybe Frenese had the answer.

Not that she could ask him now, concealed as he was.