“Just because Sorpha is unstoppable doesn’t mean things aren’t unchangeable.”

The three of them looked up from their studies, ingredients and materials held mid-air above the pillar of steam. “I don’t understand,” Desmon said.

Alle smiled as he stretched his legs towards the fireplace. “Something unstoppable doesn’t mean it isn’t unchangeable. Goodness knows how much has happened in the course of our lifetimes where the prophesized plan became a near obsolete obstacle instead.”

“You’ve heard the stories, though,” Jalem said. “Entire villages have been burned to the ground; homes once firm within the cliff-faces by the seas gone, smaller than the sands below.”

Alle nodded. “Yes. However, from the ashes of the villages, peoples as strong as those of the Rathens Regions emerged. From the foams of the waves, warriors ward against the deaths of the desolate districts.” He paused, a slender finger tracing the details of the modified timepiece, dark eyes staring out the window where the garden could be seen.

“Realistically, the three of you don’t stand a chance against Sorpha. What he’s accomplished in such a short time is… Don’t surrender, but don’t slip into a false security of surviving without scars.”

“Father, we never thought-,” Allen began, furrowing his brow.

“Enough. Not a good use of the evening before the celebrations. Finish what you’ve started. We’ll be beside you, united, throughout it all.”