The tea house was quiet that morning, the soft murmur of patrons barely filling the space. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the worn wooden tables. Sabel was behind the counter, lazily polishing a coffee cup, when the door creaked open.
In shuffled an old man, wrapped in a cloak that looked like it had seen a thousand winters. His eyes sparkled with a strange light, and his weathered face broke into a knowing smile as he looked around.
Sabel, curious but wary, watched him settle into a corner seat. The man's gaze finally landed on Sabel himself.
"You," he said, voice gravelly but firm, "come here."
Sabel raised an eyebrow but approached, intrigued.
Without a word, the old prophet reached out and grasped Sabel's hand. His fingers were surprisingly strong as he examined the prince's palm, tracing invisible lines.
A slow smile spread across the prophet's face.
"You have the mark of a marvellous one," he murmured. "Power, yes—but more than that, purpose."
Sabel smirked. "Well, I do make a mean coffee. That counts for something, right?"
The old man chuckled softly and nodded. Then, without another word, he signaled for the server and proceeded to order—one, two, three... until he had 150 cups of coffee lined up on the counter.
Sabel's jaw dropped. "One hundred and fifty?"
The prophet only smiled and began to drink.
Patrons watched in astonishment as the old man sipped cup after cup, never losing his steady demeanor.
When he finally set down the last cup, he leaned closer.
"Listen carefully, young marvellous one. Time will be tough for the world. Shadows will gather, and chaos will rise."
Sabel frowned. "Sounds like the usual royal gossip."
"No," the prophet said, voice grave. "This time, it's different. The balance is tipping."
Sabel swallowed, a rare moment of seriousness settling over him.
"But you," the prophet continued, "you are the hope it needs. Stay sharp. Stay clever. The path will be dangerous, but the world's fate rests with you."
He stood, his cloak swirling around him, and made his way to the door.
One last look back, he said with a sly grin, "And maybe lay off the coffee—just a little."
With that, he disappeared into the streets, leaving behind a lingering sense of mystery—and a tea house filled with quiet wonder.