Out of Retirement
Prologue
Ignatius Ching sighed for the fifth time, he couldn't understand what the problem was. "Janet, why are you making such a monstrous deal of this situation?" He asked.
"Well sir, she's... she's the wrong sort." The mousy woman squeaked out.
"In the 400 years you've worked in the Hall of Prophecies, have you ever known the prophecies being wrong?" He chided.
"Well, no! She's just... different." Janet cried.
"Different how?"
"Well, we usually have a type sir. Everyone who has ever been prophecied has been young, strong, and better suited for saving the world. She's none of those things. She's old! She's on medication and can't go more than four steps without a cane. Are you sure?" She rushed to explain.
"Who wrote the prophecy?" He questioned gently.
"You did sir. Says so right here. I. Ching, Oracle." She pointed to the bottom of the scroll.
"Now, does that tell you anything of my certainty? Put the prophecy through Janet. The next time you question a prophecy, keep your questions to yourself and do your job. If you can't perform even this simple task, I'll have no choice but to reassign you to a less favorable position."
"Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'll put this through, express like." She huffed.