Argyle didn’t have much time, he knew that much was certain. Yet in all his centuries, on all the Earths, he had never once contemplated death till now. After all such things were beneath him, no? For what is death to a man of his calibre, a Navigator with ninety-nine worlds at his fingertips? 

But nevertheless, his time was coming, and of all the Earths to die on, Argyle had found himself on Earth thirty-four. A place without magic, predators, or even other vocal kinds outside of mankind. 

It was a strange place, an Earth ruled by a single kind, who in turn were divided by a thousand differences. But nonetheless, it would be the source of the Rose family. The three heirs of Argyle’s magic, the three heirs to his prophecy.

Ago sighed to himself, wondering if this was something he really wanted to go through with, to have the deaths of so many on his shoulders, to have the pain of the entire first Earth come from the seeds he would sow. But then he remembered, he remembered his own lack of choice in the matter, as was true with all prophecies. 

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Standing for a moment, Ago pulled the worn slip of paper from his pocket, though it was already something he had memorised a thousand times over…

Behold and weep and the coming of the three kin of Rose! 

Behold and pity their fates:

He Who: shall end the last royals life.

He Who: shall bring the first vocal kinds to war.

He Who: shall inherit the perpetual title of LichKing.

They Who: shall end the Era of Freedom.