Actually, it’s worse, Xander realized. They were humoring him; looking at him as if he were a child. They were hovering in that neutral place, waiting to see if he would do something worthy of their presence or if he would throw a tantrum that would send them all scurrying. It was all there in their bland expectation, and he hated them for it. He might have to entertain a bit of patronizing from his wife, but, blast it all, the other two were supposed to be his lackeys.

How dare they judge me! he thought, anger supplanting his desperation.

How can they not understand? The Prophecy named him, not them. He was the target. He was the inevitable victim if they could not forfend fate.

To make matters worse, their disregard…no, their disrespect was putting the kingdom at risk. It was treasonous. How obvious did it have to be? He was the kingdom and the kingdom was he. He was the Chosen One. The end of Xander the Firm was the end of their way of life. Their culture. Maybe even their very existence.

Xander turned away from his advisors in disgust. He felt very much alone. He thought of the young warman from Back Tier, the last would-be savior to have failed, like all those before him who had been dispatched to the Tree. But the king was not thinking of the tragic loss of a young and noble life; he had never even met the warman or known his name. Rather, he was confounded by the unfairness that kept this accursed anticipation hanging over his head.

Should he simply order up another champion? And another? He could fill up time and space with Manolithic bodies and still not prevent the arrival of Aurora. Why not just overrun the Tree with his army? Hammer it with HEXes until it was disemboweled and its secrets revealed? But he couldn’t because the Prophecy had prescribed otherwise.

The Prophecy had set a course as unerring as an orbital path, and to deviate from it would be to invite disaster. Still, disaster was already on its merry way to his doorstep. A night wind blew into the opening through which the massive telescope protruded, and it ruffled Xander’s hair and his concentration.

“The alignment is near,” he said. “Is there nothing more that we can do?”

The Why stood with his head bowed. “We cannot stop time, m’lord.”

Olaf took a confident step forward.

“There are many turns in the road to destiny, sire.” Olaf spoke smugly. “Have faith. Perhaps an unseen hand is at work.”

“Easy for you to say,” Xander replied, forlorn. It seemed that every social interaction of late was terribly taxing, and it left him feeling weary to his core.