Within most definitions, stories have a standard way of being presented. They tend to start with a humble beginning, a middle filled with conflicts and challenges, a climax, an end, and then the epilogue.

Stories, or perhaps life and experiences in general, were the things that made people who they were, and in turn they form new stories, for others and themselves to be told. A feedback loop, either positive or negative, could therefore be realised. An endless cycle of beginning and end, of experiences and lessons, of love and hardships.

The Sage had once wished for her own story, and so she did, her own journey when she was young. Now, her responsibility was to facilitate the story of others, so that they may have their own journeys, legends to be formed, things to be narrated to those that wanted to read or listen.

Her responsibility was to be just that, a facilitator, a guide, who's main strength was her words. And in spite of being bestowed gifts, powers, things that were granted unto her in order to canonise her title as the Sage, she could never use them. She could never interfere with them. And she was fine with that.

…Was.

There were times when she knew she could’ve done something different, some act that could help her chosen person in their lives, but knew that she couldn't. All because of that pact she had to become this guardian and bystander.

There was a time when she did use that power, and it was to change someone's story. She was acting selfish, for she wanted to save that one person from a terrible fate, for she loved him like how a lover would. And so she did, but her heart paid the price still.

No, it was not just her, as later down the line that person was punished with karma, a belated bad ending. For that was how his family turned for the worse, their legacy shattered, and it took centuries for it to be reverted back to what it was before.

That moment her heart truly was divided upon. The Sage at that time could not handle the loss of the one that tugged at her strings so dearly. Yet knowing what happened after, she truly felt more pain than what could’ve happened if she didn't interfere.

Now…she wished for that same thing. She wanted to change her story, for she could not bear the burden of watching her grieving alone. She could not watch her having to cry for such loss again as it was in her past life. And she hated that.

She could do nothing but watch and hardened her heart to such events. For that was the responsibility of The Sage. She had the power, yet she could not act with it. At most, she could participate as a sort of self-insert, but her role would be severely limited.

“You're here, quite late aren't you?”

The Sage, known as Sophia Winchester, had spoken out. She was standing in front of a statue that stood at the centre of a memorial in this city. It was a man holding upon the hilt of his sword, its blade facing downwards with its tip touching the square base. It was a person she knew of and cared for like a family, thousands of years ago, his legend being the reason why Albion stood to this day.

She was in deep thought with her eyes closed, yet now this new presence disturbed her. She did not turn around, she didn't need to.

Her eyes, a deep crimson like blood, contrasted with her soft pale face and pure white hair. She held a black and white parasol in one hand, her body adorned in a raven-coloured Victorian mourning dress. She was the same height as her, but just by standing there she exuded a ghastly aura. She looked like a ghost with how white she was, but Sophia knew better.

“You seem to be quite lonely, Sophia.” The girl said, “I’m here to accompany you, if you will.”

The White Rabbit sighed, “Very well.”

The girl walked over to her, and stood at her side, the both of them looking at the statue that stood before them.

“It's his birthday today, isn't it?” She asked.

“He doesn't have an exact birth date, but today is the time he was found by her.” Sophia responded.

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“Same difference.” The girl looked at her, “I miss him too, you know?”

“That we can definitely relate to each other. But why are you here, Oracle?”

The girl, if she were to be expressive, would have pouted at that sudden turn of topic. But she simply turned her head again, “You can call me Alya anytime, you know? You're practically my sibling with how she raised us.”

“A pair of orphans, a trio of orphans counting him.” Sophia commented, a small smile curled up, “But still, why are you here? During this time of all places. What have the Onlookers' spoken towards you?”

Alya took a glance at her, furrowing her eyebrows slightly. “Onlooker, singular. Only one of them spoke to me for this.”

“So much for gods of no desire, they're still talking to you as if they're actual people.” Sophia commented.

Alya gave out a heavy sigh, “They give commandments based on what they were appointed as, you know that.”

“Yes yes, I know. And those that gain desire—”

“—became Personifications.” Alya completed, “No need for lecturing, we’re getting off-topic.”

“Fine. What did they say to you?”

“The disaster that is to come, it must be prevented.”

Sophia raised her eyebrows, her eyes widened slightly. She was humbly surprised, but it wasn't truly eye-opening. Her expression returned to normal afterwards. “I can't do that.” She said unto her, firmly, yet with a hint of sadness to it.

“Why? Haven't you done so once? To save one of your chosen ones?”

“...I’m not repeating the same mistake, Alya. I would be doing this already if I was allowed to, but she must face this on her own.”

“...why?" She asked again.

“I…” Sophia trailed off, trying to find her words. Her tone became less distant, an out-of-character thing perhaps, but quickly she reaffirmed, “I just can't. Her path is her own to take, but her fate is one that is filled with tribulations. I can only hope for the best that she could see through this.”

“...” Alya just stood there, she was quite perplexed at her sister's words. “You wish for her happiness, yet somehow you couldn't reach for her. Just how cruel was the one that chose you?”

“...I cannot answer, my apologies, Alya.” She faced the Oracle fully now, “I could only beg for forgiveness in refusing your commandment, and for my incapability in handling this crisis.”

Among the chosen Sages, throughout history, from the Age of Myth to the present times, there was something known as their Core Tenets. Rules they must abide by, lest they be punished accordingly through various fates happening to them. Either their powers could be stripped from them, or they must endure catastrophic consequences in turn.

“I may be able to act as a self-insert, but I could not use my bestowed gifts to do what you want me to do.” The Sage stated, her tone firm and solid.

“Then…” Alya was slightly desperate about this, “Make sure to protect her, however you can. You stated it yourself, that you are her guardian angel, so why don't you act like one?”

“Alya…”

“If the disaster could not be prevented, then so be it. At least hold onto your wish for her.” She stated once again, “She may be undying, but her heart is vulnerable to despair. Watch over her, as you are doing so now, and make sure she can see through it.”

“...” Sophia was silent. This was nothing particularly new to her, Alya was always the more proactive one, despite their passive roles. She would let her continue.

“I know one of your Core Tenets is to not interfere. Yet that only applies to the story as a whole, as a narrative, correct? After all, another responsibility of yours is to protect your Chosen Person until their path is reached.”

Sophia sighed. Alya sounded like a nagging sibling right now, she was so desperate. Then again, it was her job to warn people, to ensure that creation could remain stable. Therefore—

“I will see what I can do. But forgive me for not being able to do what the Onlookers wished for, Alya.”

The Oracle nodded slightly towards her final statement to her, “Once the time comes, she may meet me at the tower. That shall be my message for her.”

Sophia did not respond, but she acknowledged her words. And within the next moment, Alya would be engulfed by the fallen leaves that were scattered throughout this memorial, and promptly disappeared.

The Sage presented a sigh of relief, of regret. She truly wished that she could’ve done something for this, but right now she could only watch. There would be a time where she could adorn the role of an actor in this story, to fulfil that other responsibility the Oracle had pointed out, but now was not the time.

There was nothing that she could do that wouldn't lead to something worse later down the line. So the best course of action was not to play into her feelings upon this matter. She believed that she could see through this, and she trusted her to be able to do so.

Now, as she had said it before, would be the time to beg. Not for anything tangible, but for—

“Forgive me, oh Chosen Person. For I could not save you from despair.”