prismaticbleed | moralimon prologue draft: meeting portent (Reply)

I found some more to-be-heavily-revised drafts, this time from the “prequel” for Dream World.
I really, really love the ending of this one, and will keep it in the story somehow. Nevertheless, the conversational context here is being edited entirely for the final version, so here you go.

(Opal and Sage have recently met Deropélé, a Prophet Bothki. He is speaking to them here of their shared roles, as they have never met another one who knows, let alone, understands what they are before.)

Deropélé shook his head. “…I was unaware of my role for many years; all but oblivious to the greater purpose I had been given. It tore at me. I felt it in my blood, every moment. But I was not blessed, as you have been, young Wisdom. I had no word for my calling… nor did anyone I met.” He shrugged lightly. “How could they know?”
“Wait,” Sage broke in, distracted by sudden astonishment. “No one else could tell? Or even guess?”
Deropélé again shook his head. “Not a single soul.”
“But …” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the notion. How could they not tell? Every person she had ever met carried a word with them, as clear to her as a song in the air was to her sister. And sure, her sister couldn’t feel those words, but… Sage always assumed that was because her sister had been given a different gift. But they were only two people! Surely someone besides her could have told this old creature what his word was?
“Most have forgotten that part of themselves,” Deropélé explained gently, noticing her bewilderment. “Creatures like you, who can feel and explain those old roles, are rare. There may not have been one like you for hundreds of years.”
“Hundreds?” Opal gasped on behalf of her sibling, who was now entirely speechless.
“It may sound incomprehensible, for one your age. But it is possible, this I know.”
“Have there been others like you in hundreds of years?” Opal questioned.
Deropélé laughed. “Hundreds of others. I began my life as a Sebit, the same as any other Bothki.”
Opal shook her head. “No, I mean like… like all three of us, I guess.” she clarified. “Creatures who can see things, and feel things.”
“There have,” he nodded. “Not many, but there have been others.”
“How many?”
“I would not know. But there are some who might.”
“Who?” Sage spoke at last, forgetting her confusion in the sudden light of hope.
“The same ones who would know their old roles.”
Sage’s ears pricked up. “You mean not everyone forgot?”
The moth’s dark eyes glimmered as he nodded. “Not everyone. There are some who remember, who promise to never forget. They are old species in this World, dedicated to the Light and the Prophets.”
“Prophets? Like us? Opal marveled.
“Like us.”
“Wow!” the little dragon exclaimed.
“…Why?”
Sage’s voice was quiet, confused, scared. Deropélé turned to her, listening wordlessly as she continued. “What are we?”
“We are Prophets,” the Bothki replied simply. “Messengers of the Light.”
But now Sage shook her head violently, suddenly unable to bear the weight of everything in it. “Not just that. I still don’t know what that means, not really, but…” She let out a huff, blinking back tears. “You’re a Bothki. What are we?” She spun to catch her sister’s eyes, desperately, before returning to the elder’s quiet stare. “You said you were born alone, but there are still so many other creatures like you. Opal and I, we’re…we’re just us. And now you’re saying that there haven’t been creatures like us in, in hundreds of years, and there are entire species out there looking up to us and…” She stopped, feeling helpless, but her sister was still watching her. She swallowed hard.
“I don’t feel very wise right now,” Sage confessed at length. Deropélé was still silent. “I feel like I don’t understand anything anymore.”
“You do,” the old Prophet finally spoke, quietly.
But Sage felt inconsolable. “Like what?” She cried. “From what you’re telling me, it sounds like all I know are things that no one else even understands!!”
“And that is what it means to be a Prophet.”
Sage fell silent. Somehow, like a tiny key turning in her heart, that made sense. She didn’t know how to put it into words, but… somehow, if only a little, she understood.
“I am sorry,” Deropélé continued after a few moments, “for giving you so much to ponder at once. I did not mean to overwhelm you.” He looked to her in honest apology, and Sage found she couldn’t hold it against him. He’d probably dealt with these same feelings when he learned what he was, after all.
“It’s okay,” Opal broke through her thoughts, a welcome smile to her voice. “There’s a lot to learn!”
“About that,” Sage continued her train of thought aloud, carefully. “If you didn’t know any of this stuff when you were born either, where did you learn it from?”
Deropélé smiled. “From the same individuals I was speaking of before you stopped me, understandably so. Do you recall what I said about them?”
“You said they remember things no one else does, like the things I feel in people, and that they’re dedicated to the Prophets like us somehow. But they taught you?” Sage added quickly, amazed all over again.
Deropélé nodded. “They did.”
“But how did you meet them? Did they find you like you found us?” Opal inquired.
“No. I found them,” Deropélé explained, a hint of weariness in his voice. “It was a long and arduous task, but I found them. And because they remembered who they were, they knew what I was, even when I didn’t. They taught me what no one else could possibly know.” He paused. “But even they had no word for my calling, the single force that led me to them, and to you. They had no word for it because it was not their answer to give me.” He spread his two hands out towards the Sisters, his eyes brightening. “It was yours.”
“Portent,” Sage answered, almost automatically. The word was strange to her, but the feeling…
Deropélé nodded. “Portent,” he repeated, pronouncing it like the name of an old friend. “I was always waiting, always watching. I always felt like something was on the horizon. I was told the feeling was common for a Prophet, as a herald of the Light, but they couldn’t know the truth. I did not have the feeling. I was the feeling.”
“What do you mean?”
“It took me many years to understand it myself. But I came to realize that my reason for existing as a Prophet was simply to prepare for those who would come after me.” He was silent for a moment, almost reverently. “My role was to be a harbinger, nothing less, nothing more. I waited for a lifetime, to play that part. But now…” He looked from one child to another. “I prayed for wisdom, to recognize this moment. Now, I can only look on in wonder. Two Prophets, born together as sisters… how perfect,” he reflected, “how perfect.” Then he leaned back and closed his eyes.
“I have been waiting for you. Perhaps the world has been waiting for you.”
Sage glanced at her sister. “What do you mean?”
Deropélé said nothing for a moment, but then his old face broke into a wide, serene smile. It was strangely grateful, as if this was the last time he would ever wear such a true expression, and the first time he ever had reason to do so.
“Something great is about to happen to this World,” he murmured. “Something great but terrible.”
“Great and terrible?” Opal squeaked, her pink eyes wide. “Why both?”
Deropélé opened his tired eyes, his face unchanging. “It will be a time of wonder; great wonder, but at the dark and light alike. And it will be accompanied by a great wisdom.” His eyes moved to Sage, who met them with a candid seriousness. “Great, but terrible. Wisdom is one of the Virtues, one of the most precious, but it is a heavy title to bear. Your paths will be troubled, Sisters. They will be rough. But such is the path of a Prophet, the path I have also walked, and will walk until I return to the Light.” He again closed his eyes, and was silent for a few moments, as Sage marveled at his unwavering smile. It, too, felt great but terrible: a tranquil mouth speaking such words.
“You must promise to love one another, Sisters. Always, and in all things.”
At this, the two children exchanged glances, Opal failing to hide the lines of joy around her eyes. “We will,” she sang.
Deropélé looked at her, but his own smile was fading. “Always.”
There was a note of apology to the word, which was followed by silence as clear and heavy as a bell. Sage said nothing.
“…This World has waited long for Love to return. I have waited too. I still do.” A pause. “But I am young, and you are younger still, in the great jewel of life.
Love is the greatest Virtue, but great in its humility, great in its meekness. When one turns to pride, love suffers. When one turns to fear, love dies.” His gaze did not waver. “Your paths will be troubled, sisters. But you must never fail to love one another. In the end, that may be all you need. It may be all any of us need.”
“Need for what?” Sage asked quietly.
“Everything,” the old Prophet whispered in response. And although corners of his mouth turned up once more, he couldn’t hide the apology in his eyes.
Great and terrible, Sage thought to herself, solemnly.