Echoes of the Ancient Prophecy

The first rays of dawn were gently filtering through the window, bathing the hospital room with a warm light that highlighted the purity of the white walls. The small vase on the window sill captured this light, making the petals of the flowers within it glow with a vitality that contrasted with the serenity of the surroundings. Amid the subtle sounds of state-of-the-art hospital equipment, almost symphonic in their regularity, Elizabeth rested, a vision of tranquility, her blonde hair spread over the pillow, her blue eyes shut in repose.

Beside her bed, Thomas was engrossed in his reading, the apple in his hand marking an occasional pause for his critical thinking. The book, a thriller about betrayal and supernatural retribution, seemed to capture his imagination, although he was well aware of its clichés and stereotypes. Perhaps it was the story of this anti-hero that resonated with him, a fantasy of power and control amid the chaos.

The room was steeped in a comfortable silence, filled only with the sound of pages turning and the occasional crunch of a bite into the apple. Thomas's thoughts were centered on the similarities of the narrative to human complexity when a subtle sigh broke the auditory routine of the room.

He lifted his eyes from the pages. Elizabeth was stirring gently, a hand reaching out unconsciously, her graceful fingers curling as if searching for something in the void. Her eyes were still closed, but rapid movements danced beneath her eyelids. She was clearly transitioning from the depths of her rest to the tangible reality of the waking world.

Thomas watched her, not with the surprise or relief one might expect from someone watching over a stranger's sleep, but with a cool curiosity and a detachment that bordered on academic. He only held his attention on her for a fleeting moment before returning to his book, the apple halfway to another bite as he patiently waited for the next phase of their interaction, whatever that might be.

Elizabeth finally emerged from the depths of sleep, each detail of her recent defeat revisiting her mind in a turbulent whirlpool of memories. As she grappled with her thoughts, Thomas's voice offered an anchor to reality, despite his attention being visibly divided between his patient and the world of words open in his lap.

"Thomas?" Elizabeth's voice was soft, still tinged with the weight of exhaustion.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. You woke up earlier than expected," Thomas responded, his voice calm, keeping his eyes on the page of his book, as if Elizabeth's recovery was an expected event in the normal course of the day.

She sighed, a gust of frustration escaping with her breath; the defeat to John still burned, corrosive in her memory. Yet she was a hunter. Defeat was not a full-stop; it was merely a comma on her journey. There was no time for lamentation.

"How long did I stay asleep?" Her curiosity was natural, a desire to anchor herself to the time she had lost.

"A couple of months, why?" Thomas replied with casual disinterest, turning a page.

In an instant, Elizabeth's composure and elegance were dismantled by sheer shock. She sat up abruptly, disbelief painting her features perfectly. "WHAT?! Two months?!"

It was impossible for Thomas to maintain his demeanor; he let out a laugh, the first true emotion he had shown since she woke up. "Haha, it's been just 5 days, calm down."

Elizabeth's shoulders fell in relief and she leaned back on the bed, an arm thrown over her eyes, a curtain of flesh and bone sheltering the blush of her face. Her heart was still racing, a march of slowly dissipating adrenaline under the reality of his words.

Thomas shifted his attention from the book for the first time, and with an interest that lit up his dark eyes, he casually changed position. Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and his cheek in the palm of his hand, he gazed at Elizabeth with a look that sparkled with curiosity. His black hair hung slightly to the side, giving him an unassuming air as he posed his question.

"Are you embarrassed for losing your composure in front of me?" His voice was even, with a hint of amusement.

Elizabeth, still sheltering under the shadow cast by her arm, responded with her usual calmness despite the momentary disturbance: "No... I was just worried that something might have happened to England in that time."

"Hm, but you know I'm here, right? What could possibly happen to me here?" Almost rhetorically, Thomas echoed a thought that suggested his own security or perhaps relevance.

As Elizabeth processed this reminder, she was flooded by a series of pertinent questions, her momentary anxiety escaping in a torrent: "What are you doing here?! Weren't you supposed to be in a cell or something? And John? Did you take care of him?"

The flurry of questions, although abrupt, didn't diminish the intrinsic elegance of Elizabeth. She possessed an innate equilibrium that transcended the temporary confusion, as if her poise could never be entirely shaken.

Thomas smiled again, savoring the whirlwind of doubts with a gentle chuckle and replied, elucidating the circumstances.

After listening to Thomas's answers and absorbing the new information, Elizabeth reflected, her eyebrows raised slightly. "Hmm... So, Arthur allowed you to stay here... And John suddenly left the country after your fight?"

With a nod, Thomas confirmed and elaborated a bit more. "I didn't want to stay in that building surrounded by hunters. So I asked Arthur to let me stay here and he agreed since the hospital is surrounded by hunters too; they keep an eye on both me and you."

As Elizabeth mulled over Thomas's revelations, she realized that a veil of mystery surrounded him. Various questions orbited her consciousness, each vying for preeminence. "Who was he? What was his goal? Why did he protect me?" No answers were in sight, only the foggy silhouettes of speculation.

With a sigh, Elizabeth decided to put these doubts aside, for now. There would be time for such inquiries later; more immediate priorities demanded her attention. She wanted to establish a cordial relationship, a mutual recognition without the weight of the obligations and the secrets formerly concealed.

"Anyway, I think I haven't introduced myself properly..." She said while adjusting her position in bed, preparing to formalize introductions that extraordinary circumstances had postponed. With the dignity her position commanded, but a warmth her nature could not hide, she continued. "Pleased to meet you, Thomas. I am Elizabeth Rose, the Princess of England."

Thomas's response came with the same ease that had marked his constant presence by her side — a soft bow, a gesture of respect tinged with a touch of irony given the situation. "The pleasure is all mine, Elizabeth Rose."

Now, side by side, the two faced a new beginning. They who had once met on intersecting paths of conflicting goals were now amidst a truce of courtesies and possible mutual understandings. Both ready to unravel the skein of intentions and discoveries that bounded their interactions, each with their own motivations, but perhaps a common goal slowly emerging: to understand what fate held for them after this fortuitous meeting.

Thomas's silent reflection, his eyes resting on the figure of Elizabeth, denoted not just a casual interest but a careful internal calculation. Although his observation seemed commonplace, his thoughts revealed a churning sea beneath a calm exterior.

"For now, I will wait and see what the world holds for me." He mused in silence, weighing his options and the chess game that was his existence. The title "King of Monsters" echoed in his head like a melody whose origins he couldn't yet discern. An enigmatic voice had whispered these words to him, and their weight still lingered on his shoulders, an invisible cloak that only he could feel.

The pieces on the board were moving, and Thomas, now linked to Elizabeth by the happenstance of their intertwined fates, seemed to be meditating on his next move. There was a depth to this contemplation, an awareness of the role he might have to play in Elizabeth's life and in the broader landscape they inhabited. It was as if he sensed, in his guts, that the quiet of the present was just the soothing antechamber to a storm that was brewing.

Elizabeth, in turn, represented more than a princess in the eyes of Thomas; she was the catalyst for a series of events that he could not yet fully predict. The doubt about her presence in his life – why he protected her, why their paths crossed – was a flame that he would allow to burn for the time being, providing light and warmth as he cautiously moved through the unknown future.

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The narrative now plummets into the penumbra of a concealed place, the atmosphere thick with the anticipation of secrets about to be unraveled. Mysterious voices intertwine in the darkness, discussing the enigmatic entity known as the "King of Monsters."

"So the king of monsters has awakened?" A female voice slices through the darkness, its reverberation suggesting a mix of fear and admiration.

"Yes, I managed to sense his aura emanating from a planet called Earth." The answer, a whisper in the vacuum of the unknown, confirms the awakening of an ancient and potent force.

Wrapped in the gloom, interest hones as another voice interjects: "And who is this king of monsters exactly?"

"The strongest. At least that's what the prophecies claim." The knowledge shared among the voices heralds a destiny anticipated by the stars, promising a cataclysm of immeasurable power.

"And is he on our side?" The question is laden with pragmatic uncertainty, an attempt to tease out a glimpse of the strategic vein that unfurls.

Sinister noises of conversation - a laughter born from the shadow. "Good question... According to the prophet, he looks upon all with equality, seeing only insects before him." The revelation carries a sting - all are equally insignificant in the eyes of this spectral sovereign.

"But by the title that is imposed upon him, it seems he must hate humans more than us…" Speaks one of the voices, insinuating a gradation in the King of Monsters' detestation - a distinctive disdain directed toward humanity.

"Hm, and what do the prophecies say about him himself? Honestly, I don't see anything special about him. I've killed so many beings with grand names, the King of the Sea, the god of thunder, God." The voice, disinterested, reveals a past intertwined with feats and divine assassinations, scoffing at the aura of dread that usually surrounds majestic titles.

The reply comes with a laugh, possibly mocking, signaling perhaps intrigue or doubt about the legitimacy of such legends. "Hahaha, maybe it's just an exaggeration… But a prophecy says that he was the beginning of everything, and he will be the end…" The voice echoes an ancient mystery, speaking of the genesis and the eventual demise the King of Monsters represents.

With these words, they weave an unsettling doubt into the ears of all: if the prophecy is correct, then the King of Monsters is not a common player in the game of power. He is a game-changer, a force of nature as primal as the universe itself, capable of triggering the dawn of ages and the collapse of civilizations. The unfolding narrative captures the eternal duel between disbelief and mysticism, between those who doubt the power of legends and those who fear their inevitable truth.

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Author's note:

Hello 😘 Thank you for reading to the end.

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