Arlais's Rise

The old wise man lay on the harsh desert sand, his weathered face etched with the weight of countless sunrises. As Arlais loomed over him, a flicker of something unsettling flashed in her eyes.
"I have seen many things." His voice rasped dryly. "But you... you have been prominent in much of it."
Arlais scoffed. Power pulsed within her veins, a stolen Magick thrummed within. "And what is it that you have seen?" she demanded.
He raised his hand, his gnarled fingers reaching for her, then let it fall back to the sand. The wind picked up, swirling around them, carrying his words as if spoken across cracked stone. They echoed in the vast emptiness.

Arlais shall rise, clad in stolen Magick, will twist the land to her will. Crops will wither, rivers and wells run dry, and the very lifeblood of Tangwyn will be sucked away.

A beat of silence hung in the air. Arlais smile widened, a predator saving her truimph. This prophecy, it seemed confirmed her destiny. The land would bend to her will and would be hers to command.
But the wind, ever-present, rose again, stronger this time, whipping sand into a frenzy. Arlais's smile faltered, a flicker of unease crossing her face. Her ears, however, remained deaft to the warning that followed.

Damaged, the land will divide, but from the ashes a champion blooms. A young woman, kissed by Magick and Morgance, will emerge when the darkness is most profound. In her hands, the fate of The Ashai rests.

The wind died down as abruptly as it rose, leaving a profound silence in its wake. Arlais, her gaze fixed on the endless horizon, ignored the fear snaking through her. She'd heard what she needed to, but the old man knew there still hope for his people.
He closed his eyes, and layed unmoving on the sand. A single tear traced a path down his cheek.