Not even the Hero wields the power to defy fate.
Long, long ago, a prophecy was written. Its words echoed throughout the land, through every tree, through every bird, through every person's very fate.
A prophecy that spoke of a great evil sealed away long ago returning to enact its revenge.
That the sky would turn red with fire and blood.
That the guardian would turn against its charge.
That the beasts of flame and fortune would awaken
That the generous shall be dethroned.
That the rain itself would stop falling.
That the House of Death would open its doors for all.
But it also spoke of a Hero, who would come to save us from this grisly fate.
One who could calm the chaos.
One who could cure any affliction.
One who could endure the flames of hell.
One who could barter with the tides.
One who could bring back the rain.
One who not even Death itself could stop.
And as their final act, they would slay the great evil, and we shall enjoy an age of peace and prosperity.
Thus it is written, and thus it shall be.