Enfys woke up and everything was wrong.

They felt for the stream in which they had been riding and found it gone. Not just gone, but evaporated. For the first time since they were eighteen, Enfys was free falling through time.

Their first instinct was to freeze.

It had been years since Enfys had so much as eaten a piece of bread without feeling the stream’s guidance. It was second nature. It was part of them.

How could they make a decision without it?

Then, their second instinct kicked in, thank the Fool.

When their communication with the stream was compromised, the best thing to do was act.

First, they packed a bag. They took the basics, but included their performance jewellery (the thing that would get the most money at the market) and a simple wooden flute (the thing that could make them more money when the jewellery was gone).

Enfys swung the bag on their back, and grabbed three books. They stepped into the hall.

Nothing looked different. Nothing indicates the seismic shift that Enfys had just experienced.

Everyone in the temple should be riding the same stream, or a stream that was running nearly parallel to the rest of them. If Enfys’s was gone, the rest of the temple should feel it too. Enfys didn’t want to be arrogant, but their connection was stronger than anyone else’s. Enfys lived within the interconnected streams, where everyone else merely glanced it from a distance.

The temple wasn’t supposed to have hierarchy— nothing is more offensive to the Minstrel than a king. The leader of the temple would inadvertently crown themselves Emperor of Idiots.

Enfys, the Princess of Idiots, could hardly sneak past their fellow devotees. Eyes were on them, always. They were the prodigy of the Hillfars. They were the gods’ second closest confidant on earth. They were the priest who knew the future almost as well as the present.

Enfys tried to make for a side gate, weaving through the buildings, but they were stopped.

“Enfys.” Aled said, stepping in front of them.

“I’m late for worship,” Enfys said, as if they were ever late for anything.

“Gareth needs to speak to you.”

—-

Enfys tried to clear their mind. If you do not plan, your actions cannot be anticipated. The stream will have nothing to report to any of the others, as long as you accept the direction in which it sends you.

“The Minstrel has chosen to reveal their will.”

Gareth sat at the head of the table in ornate, embroidered robes. They stared Enfys down.

“And what is their will?” Enfys asked.

“To reconsider our succession plan,” Gareth said, and Enfys heard the slightest shift that indicates that the protectors next to him were preparing for a reaction.

Gareth was not strong enough to interpret the will so specifically. Gareth, Enfys suspected, could barely sense the stream at all. If Enfys hadn’t been dropped from the stream so recently, they would have known that Gareth’s declaration was a total lie.

Enfys felt like there was a void between them and everyone else. They couldn’t feel the threads of potential that grew out of every person’s mind.

Enfys had lost their trust in Gareth nearly two years ago, but they had nobody else who might have answers.

“What’s happening to me?” Enfys asked.

“The Minstrel is withdrawing their support,” Gareth said.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Enfys said. “They’ve been planning me for generations.”

“They had backups,” Gareth said. “You’re no longer needed.”

Enfys wanted to say something back, but they saw the look on Gareth’s face.

They knew it was time to go.