Across worlds, Lord Nicholas Titanbend is preparing to leave his manor.

“Tell my groom to saddle my horse,” he orders one of the servants.

“Yes, my lord,” the man acknowledges, bowing and then hurrying away.

Walking towards the main doors, Nicholas takes his scarf and coat from the cupboard next to them. He knows that Sarran is likely on his way, but is too impatient to wait for his manservant. It’s not like he’s an invalid, anyway. Or one of those dainty lords, too good to even take their coats off a rail.

He snorts contemptuously at the thought, several faces coming to mind. If only the king didn’t require him to play ‘nicely’ with the other lords…. But there is no point in thinking such things: the kingdom is in a delicate enough state as it is. There’s no sense in upsetting the udja cart just to satisfy his own vanity. That would make him just as bad as one of those alara-flower lords.

The lord is already opening the doors, the heavy wood easy for him to move thanks to a combination of well-oiled hinges and his Strength stat, when Sarran appears around the corner.

As always a perfect manservant, the other man has perfected the ability to move without making more than a whisper of sound, even to Nicholas’ enhanced senses, and to be able to hurry without looking like he is.

“My lord, where are you off to?” asks Sarran as he stops at arm’s length away from Nicholas.

“Why, do you wish to come with me?” the lord asks with an arched eyebrow.

“If my lord wishes,” the other man answers levelly. About to refuse, Nicholas then reconsiders.

“In fact, yes. I do wish it. It has been too long since we travelled a road together. I’ll tell the groom to saddle another horse while you get yourself changed.”

“Yes, my lord,” the manservant replies, bowing. He holds the position until the lord turns away, then Nicholas’ keen ears catch the slightest sound to indicate his quick retreat. The lord grins to himself: though Sarran is far too professional to ever let on any sense of discomfort, Nicholas knows that he was more than a little perturbed at his employer’s unexpected order.

The fact is that he actually would appreciate the company on his trip, and it has been a while since they’ve gone riding out together. Of course, it isn’t in the slightest because of that dig about his midnight brooding a week or so ago.

Whistling cheerily to himself, Lord Nicholas walks along his wide driveway to the stables which are at its end. Letting himself in, he sees the groom holding his horse, saddled and bridled.

“Sarran’s coming along too, Lark,” he announces. The groom, Lark, looks a little startled.

“Truly, my lord?”

“Indeed.”

“Then I should go and saddle White Lightning for him, I presume,” he suggests, a wicked grin curling at his lips and dancing in his eyes.

“Cheeky,” Lord Nicholas reprimands, but the humour in his own eyes and on his lips soothes the sting. “Tease Sarran and he’ll have you helping the groundsmen for a few days. Spreading the piles of material you muck out from the horses’ stalls would no doubt be his answer to the jest.”

“That it would,” the groom admits wryly. “With your permission, lord, I’ll go and saddle Old Nala instead, then.”

“Go on then,” Nicolas encourages, walking forward to take the reins. “Hello my beauty,” he says, stroking his horse’s nose gently. It’s been a long time since he Bonded this stallion as a foal, but he still remembers the joy of it. After spending weeks caring for the orphaned foal, feeding, grooming, and encouraging it, to have the young creature accept his Tame Bond had been a validation of all the effort he’d put in. All the sleep he’d sacrificed.

And even now, Tempest is a magnificent mount, though he is starting to get on a little in years.

“But then, we both are,” Nicholas sighs to himself. Tempest’s strength and life has been prolonged with excellent feed, excellent care, and a good number of Cores, but even that will come to an end. The stallion’s only fault is that he’s never shown any sign of being able to progress to the next Tier; without that, prolonging his life can only be about delaying the inevitable.

Still, for now, his beloved horse is still one of his Bound, and he takes the time to fuss over the stallion. He actually appreciates the time Sarran takes to get ready, though he’s certainly going to chide his manservant on it when he appears – amicably anyway.

*****

“Where are we going? You never said,” Sarran asks once they’re en route – and the obligatory joshing at him primping himself like a lord or lady bound for court has been done.

“I wish to visit the Oracle,” Nicolas answers shortly. Sarran turns in his seat to look at him for a moment, then quickly turns back to face the front when his sudden movement threatens to unseat him.

“The one who directed you to the candidate?” he asks once he’s sure he’s not about to accidentally nose-dive off the side of his horse.

“The same,” Nicolas replies.

“Why? If I may ask,” Sarran hurriedly adds. Silence spreads between them for a few long moments. The manservant is probably giving up hope of a reply when Nicholas begins thoughtfully.

“I am wondering about the character of my candidate. To have accrued as much Energy as he did in such a short time…. How did he do it? Did he kill something immensely powerful? Did he Bind the creature instead? Did he find some sort of treasure? My curiosity is driving me insane.”

“And do you think that the Oracle can answer your questions?” Sarran asks, his eyebrows climbing up his head.

“‘Can she’ isn’t the question,” Nicholas corrects him. “‘Will she’, is more uncertain.” He sighs. “I have brought a few items she might find interesting. I hope that at least one of them will engage her curiosity sufficiently to pay for the questions.”

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*****

“Is this it?” asks Sarran, sounding like he isn’t sure whether to believe it or whether to assume Nicholas is playing a joke on him. A faint hint of resignation is tucked in the wrinkles of his face, like he’s prepared for the revelation that the whole story about the Oracle is just a cover for some other expedition.

Nicholas doesn’t blame him. The Oracle’s house is an unassuming cottage tucked into some woods just out of their closest city. It’s surrounded by flowers, even a type of climbing flowering vine crawling all over the front of the house. Its blossoms fill the air with a heady type of fragrance.

“I felt the same way when Roland first gave me the directions,” Nicholas tells him with wry amusement. “But based on my previous experience, she’s the real deal. However, her requirements for payment are a little unusual.”

Without saying anything more, he walks up to the door and lifts his hand to knock. Before it falls, the door opens. Clearly it’s not a coincidence as the woman now standing in the doorway doesn’t look the slightest surprised. She could have just seen them coming through the window, but Sarran feels like it isn’t because of that.

“Lord Nicholas Titanbend,” murmurs the lady, who looks like she absolutely fits in this quaint cottage setting, and not a bit like Sarran would have imagined an oracle to appear. “A pleasure to see you again. And Sarran Mirransson,” she continues, shifting her gaze to the manservant. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Sarran can’t help swallowing a little, his eyes going wide, wondering just how she knows his name.

As he meets her eyes, he finds himself struck by some other-worldly quality in them. Suddenly, despite the setting, despite her appearance otherwise, he has no doubt that she is indeed an Oracle.

The Oracle looks back at Nicholas.

“I will take all three of your offered items,” she announced, though he hadn’t said a word or even moved to withdraw them from his Inventory. “Three items for three questions. Fair, yes?”

Nicholas can’t help but chuckle a little.

“Fair indeed, my lady.” A small smile teases at the corner of the Oracle’s mouth, though it doesn’t soften her visage at all, instead making it all the more mysterious.

“Then shall we begin?” she invites.

Inside, Lord Nicholas takes a seat at the circular two-person table in the cosy room, the Oracle sitting opposite. Sarran stands at the door, falling easily into his role as manservant and, while his master is otherwise occupied, guard.

“A question each of the past, present, and future,” states the oracle. "Ask your first.”

Lord Nicholas thinks for a moment. The topic is obvious, but how to phrase it right is another matter.

“What was the event which caused the candidate to so quickly pay off a large portion of his debt?”

The Oracle takes a pouch, holds it within her hands for a moment, then quickly upends it.

A number of items fall out around the table, arranging themselves on the intricate design which is painted upon it. Bones, stones, feathers, and other objects which neither man is able to identify immediately. Murmuring to herself, she shifts some of the items off, tucking them back into the pouch. Others, she nudges and prods before lifting her head to gaze at the lord.

“The world-traveller encountered an unmissable opportunity. Like many, risk was balanced with reward; he suffered greatly, but what he gained was many times the value of what he lost.”

Clear as mud, Nicholas thinks to himself, but is partially satisfied nonetheless. The candidate might have killed a great creature, but if so, it’s likely that it was in the attempt to reach some natural treasure. Actually, that seems rather probable: any natural treasure is bound to be guarded by a powerful beast. Satisfied with his conclusions, the lord asks the next question.

“How many Bonds does he hold right now?” It’s a strategic question: the candidate’s use of his Class will be key for his success in the future here. By this point, if he has not started using his Class Skills, it spells dire things for the future. At the same time, it will be interesting to discover if he has a tendency to seek a small group of intelligent and powerful Bonds, or a larger group of weaker and less intelligent ones.

Once more, the Oracles goes through the rigamarole of her art.

“The world-traveller currently holds twenty-seven Bonds.” Nicholas’ eyebrows shoot up in shock.

“Twenty-seven?” he sputters. “What sort of Willpower stat does he have?!” The Oracle eyes him.

“I can only answer one question about the present,” she comments wryly. Nicholas waves it away.

“It was an exclamation, not a genuine question,” he answers quickly. Twenty-seven, he can’t help but repeat to himself again. Either the candidate has rapidly increased his levels as he couldn’t have had more than a fifteen in Willpower before coming to the world, or he has had some other fortuitous encounter. Or, Nicholas theorises, all of the Bonds are with particularly weak and unintelligent creatures.

He will have to hope that this isn’t the case, though, as a high Willpower would definitely stand the candidate in better stead when he comes to this world. Of course, it could also be due to having raised Dominate rapidly, but since that went along with gaining Bonds, it was unlikely to be the sole reason.

Could they be Tame Bonds instead? Nicholas wonders to himself. That wouldn’t necessitate such a high Willpower stat, but engineering the kind of circumstances to gain twenty-seven Tame bonds in such a short space of time has its own kind of difficulty. After all, it takes time to build the trust necessary for them. Time, or trials.

Perhaps he has come across a creature with a large amount of young and has built Bonds with each of them?

“What is your third question?” the Oracle asks at a moment when his thoughts have paused – almost like she knows exactly when is best to prompt him. Which, honestly, she probably does.

Nicholas takes a moment to consider again, still a little shocked by the previous information.

“What will be his greatest obstacle before he arrives here?” Nicholas chooses to ask the question assuming that the candidate would survive the year: he’d made unexpected steps so far that the lord sees no point in assuming that he won’t.

Once more the Oracle plies her trade, but this time is different. She takes much longer over the paraphernalia than the previous two times, and a frown creeps onto her face. Nicholas waits, more than a little impatient as she mutters to herself and nudges the items.

Finally, she shakes her head a little.

“I cannot truly answer that question.” Before Nicholas can object, she holds up her hand. “It is not that I won’t, it’s that I can’t. His fate hangs on a knife’s edge, a filament bridge over a chasm. If he falls off the path, on either side lies death. All my arts cannot see further than this moment. Come to me again in a few weeks and perhaps I will be able to answer your question.” She hesitates for a moment. “In return for my inability to give you an answer now, do you wish to ask another question?”

Nicholas eyes her. While the greedy part of him would dearly love to milk this situation for all it is worth, and the merchant within him wishes to get at least as much as he’s paid for, an instinct warns him that this situation is not all it seems. He is playing mental games with an opponent who probably already knows his moves at least five steps in the future.

“No,” he says finally, trying to smile unconcernedly, like the rejection means nothing to him. “You have given me information about the future, even if it is not exactly what I asked for. You have earned your reward.”

The Oracle smiles, the mystery in her eyes lightened with pleasure.

“A gentleman as always, Lord Nicholas. Then I shall give you this for free. Should he navigate his path correctly and traverse the chasm, he has the potential to come to this world far more powerful than you might have ever imagined he could with beasts and elements at his command.”

With those parting words, the two men thanked the Oracle and left, Nicholas giving her the three items he had promised.

The ride home was quiet, the two men both thinking over what they had learned that day.