Every night, the sage had the same dream. A pair of ravens fought over a dead tree, while the sky above was rent by a devastating thunderstorm. Every morning, he dutifully transcribed all he could remember. He could spot a prophecy, and this one was obvious.
The gods warned of civil war, to the ruin of all. But he was no politician. Still, he wrote letters to sew peace between the royal houses.
He did not expect a pair of armies to appear outside his hermitage, determined to keep him out of their business.
Sometimes, the gods can be subtle.

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