INTERDEPARTMENTAL MEMO
TO: All Prophecy Processing Staff
FROM: Director of Temporal Compliance
RE: Incident #4,729 (The Chosen One Situation)
PRIORITY: URGENT
Please be advised that prophecy CR-2024-7743 ("The Chosen One Shall Rise and Cast Down the Dark Lord") has been flagged for administrative review due to incomplete Form 27-B (Destiny Fulfillment Application). All related timeline branches are now on hold pending resolution.
Do NOT, under any circumstances, allow the Chosen One to fulfill his destiny until proper documentation has been submitted.
Failure to comply will result in timeline collapse and mandatory weekend shifts.
I read the memo three times before the full horror sank in.
My name is Lin Wei. I'm a Level 3 Prophecy Processor for the Department of Destiny, which is exactly as tedious as it sounds. Most people think prophecies are mysterious pronouncements from the gods. They're actually just bureaucratic paperwork from the future, filed by time-traveling administrators after events have already happened, then sent backward to create the illusion of fate.
It's surprisingly mundane work. Ninety percent of my job is correcting temporal grammar and making sure people fill out their forms properly.
But this? This was a disaster.
I pulled up the file. Sure enough, some idiot named Edward Silverheart had filed a Chosen One application with Section 4 (Magical Artifact Requirements) completely blank. No sword specifications. No prophecy wording preferences. No preferred dramatic timing for the final confrontation.
He'd literally just checked "fulfill destiny" and submitted it.
Amateur.
The problem was, the prophecy had already been distributed. Oracles had spoken it. Bards had sung it. The Dark Lord had heard about it and was preparing accordingly. You can't just recall a prophecy once it's in circulation. It creates paradoxes.
"Wei," my supervisor Theron appeared at my cubicle, looking like someone had just told him he had to work through the apocalypse. "Please tell me you can fix this."
"Can I fix a prophecy that's been distributed without proper documentation, is currently in progress, and has the Chosen One actively attempting to fulfill it despite not having the required magical artifacts?" I pulled up the timeline tracker. "No. No, I cannot fix this."
"You have to try. If the Chosen One fulfills his destiny without approved paperwork, the timeline will reject it as invalid. We'll have a causality violation. Reality will crash."
"Have you tried explaining this to the Chosen One?"
"He's currently storming the Dark Lord's fortress. He can't hear me over the sound of his own heroic destiny."
"Can we stop him?"
"That would violate the non-interference clause. We're administrators, not participants. We can only observe and process paperwork."
I stared at him. "So we have to watch him fulfill an invalid prophecy and crash reality?"
"Unless you can think of something."
I thought about it. Then I had a terrible idea.
"What if I went back in time and filed the paperwork for him?"
Theron's expression suggested this was both the worst and only option available. "That would require a Temporal Exception Form, three levels of approval, and a valid reason for timeline intervention."
"Would 'preventing reality crash' work?"
"Probably. But you'd have to file it in triplicate."
"Of course I would."
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TEMPORAL EXCEPTION REQUEST FORM 49-C
Applicant: Lin Wei, Prophecy Processing, Level 3
Reason for Exception: Administrative incompetence (not applicant's)
Timeline Destination: Six months prior to current date
Intended Action: Filing paperwork that should have been filed already
Potential Paradox Risk: Medium to High
Justification: Preventing reality crash seems important???
Approved by: Director of Temporal Compliance (reluctantly)
The time travel department was in the basement, which felt appropriate. Everything important happened in basements. Also, it smelled like ozone and regret.
"First time?" asked the technician, a woman named Sam who looked like she'd seen too many paradoxes and not enough coffee.
"First intentional timeline intervention, yes."
"Great. Don't touch anything, don't talk to yourself, don't step on butterflies. Standard rules." She handed me a temporal beacon. "This will bring you back. Also, if you feel nauseous, that's normal. If you feel like you're in multiple places at once, that's a problem. If you feel like you never existed, hit the emergency return button."
"Comforting."
"Time travel isn't supposed to be comforting. It's supposed to be administratively necessary." She fired up the machine. "Ready?"
"No."
"Perfect. That's the right attitude."
She pulled the lever and reality inverted itself.
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Six months ago was surprisingly similar to now, except Edward Silverheart still had both hands and significantly more optimism.
I found him in a tavern, which is where all Chosen Ones start their journeys. It's literally in the handbook. (Yes, there's a handbook. It's 847 pages and needs updating.)
"Edward Silverheart?" I sat down across from him.
He looked up from his ale, young and earnest and doomed. "Who's asking?"
"Department of Destiny. I need you to fill out some forms."
"Forms?"
"For your prophecy. The whole 'Chosen One shall rise and cast down the Dark Lord' thing. You submitted incomplete paperwork. I'm here to fix it before you create a causality violation."
He stared at me. "I don't know what any of those words mean."
"Which words?"
"All of them after 'forms.'"
I sighed and pulled out the stack of documents. "Okay. Let's start simple. Form 27-B, Destiny Fulfillment Application. Section 1: Personal Information. Name?"
"Edward Silverheart."
"Occupation?"
"Farm boy? Former farm boy? Chosen One?"
"I'll put 'destiny recipient.' Section 2: Prophecy Specifications. Have you consulted with an oracle regarding your preferred prophecy wording?"
"No?"
"Have you selected a magical artifact?"
"I have a sword. It's fairly magical. Glows when orcs are near."
"That's a standard feature, not a magical artifact. Does it have a name?"
"I call it Glowy."
"You cannot fulfill a major prophecy with a sword called Glowy. Section 4 requires a dramatic artifact name. Something with gravitas. Like Soulrend or Dawnbreaker or—"
"What about Steve?"
"What?"
"I could name it Steve. That's unexpected. Subverts genre expectations."
I stared at him. "You're going to fight the Dark Lord with a sword named Steve?"
"Is that not allowed?"
I checked the regulations. There was no explicit rule against it. "Technically, as long as you document it properly, you can name your sword anything. But Steve?"
"Steve the Soulrender?"
"Better. I'll file it." I moved to Section 5. "Now, regarding your tragic backstory—"
"My village was destroyed by the Dark Lord's forces when I was eight."
"Standard. And your mentor?"
"Died in my arms, giving me cryptic advice about my destiny."
"Classic. Dramatic timing for final confrontation?"
"I was thinking sunset. Or maybe during a storm. Storms are dramatic."
"Storm sunset is popular but clichéd. What about during an eclipse? Those are rare and cinematically striking."
"Ooh, good idea."
We spent two hours filling out paperwork. Preferred heroic journey milestones. Acceptable casualty rates for companions. Mandatory character development checkpoints.
By the end, Edward had a properly documented destiny complete with approved emotional beats and a reasonable timeline for defeating evil.
"This is way more complicated than I thought," he said, signing the final form.
"Destiny is very bureaucratic. Most chosen ones don't realize there's paperwork involved. They think it's all fate and dramatic speeches."
"There aren't dramatic speeches?"
"Oh, there are. But they have to be pre-approved. You can't just improvise during the final battle. That creates continuity errors." I gathered the forms. "Okay, you're all set. Your prophecy will now proceed without causing reality crashes."
"Thank you, uh..."
"Lin Wei. Department of Destiny."
"Thank you, Lin Wei. You've been surprisingly helpful for a bureaucrat."
"I try." I activated the temporal beacon. "Good luck with your chosen one thing. Don't forget your emotional character arc. Those are mandatory."
"Wait, I have more questions—"
But I was already gone, pulled back through time to my own present, leaving Edward Silverheart with a properly filed destiny and a sword named Steve the Soulrender.
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I returned to the office to find complete chaos.
"What happened?" I asked Theron, who was buried in incident reports.
"You happened. Do you know what you've done?"
"Filed paperwork?"
"You changed the timeline! Edward Silverheart's destiny was supposed to fail. That was the whole point. He was supposed to storm the fortress, get captured, realize he wasn't actually the Chosen One, and go home to live a peaceful life. Now he's properly documented and actually fulfilling the prophecy!"
"Wait, he wasn't the Chosen One?"
"Of course not! The real Chosen One is Sarah Ironheart. She's been training for years, has all the proper documentation, and was scheduled to defeat the Dark Lord next month. But now Edward is doing it instead, with a sword named Steve, and the timeline is accepting it because YOU FILED THE PAPERWORK."
I sat down. "Oh no."
"Oh yes. You've just created an alternate timeline where the wrong person saves the world. The entire prophecy division is going insane trying to reconcile the paperwork."
"Can we fix it?"
"How? We can't unfulfill a fulfilled destiny. That's like unringing a bell made of causality that's already been rung."
My terminal beeped. New message from Edward Silverheart. Sent from the future. Dated three hours from now.
"Dark Lord defeated. Paperwork attached. Thanks for the help. Steve the Soulrender worked great. PS: Can I get a receipt? For tax purposes."
Attached was a completed Post-Destiny Report, properly formatted, with all sections filled out correctly.
"He submitted a post-action report," I said slowly. "From the future. Which means the destiny was fulfilled properly, with correct documentation, in a timeline that now exists because I fixed his forms."
"That's a paradox."
"That's a closed causal loop. We sent me back to fix his paperwork, which allowed him to fulfill the destiny, which required us to send me back. It's stable. Causally sound. Completely legal according to temporal regulations."
Theron looked at the report. Then at me. Then back at the report.
"You accidentally destroyed the entire timeline," he said.
"I did my job. Prophecy processing. I processed a prophecy. It got fulfilled. That's literally what we're supposed to do."
"But Sarah Ironheart—"
"—is probably relieved. Do you know how much pressure it is being the Chosen One? Now she can live a normal life. Meanwhile, Edward, who filed incomplete paperwork and needed administrative assistance, defeated the Dark Lord. With a sword named Steve. That's not fate. That's bureaucracy working correctly."
Theron was quiet for a long moment. "The Director is going to be so angry."
"The Director approved my temporal exception form."
"You're technically right, which is the most annoying kind of right."
"It's also the legally binding kind."
We sat in silence, contemplating the timeline where a farm boy with improper documentation defeated evil because a bored prophecy processor helped him with his forms.
"You know what the worst part is?" Theron said finally.
"What?"
"We're going to have to update all the prophecy templates to include 'sword named Steve' as an acceptable artifact option. He set a precedent."
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Three days later, Sarah Ironheart walked into our office.
She was exactly what you'd expect from a properly documented Chosen One: trained, prepared, destiny-ready. She was also extremely confused.
"I'd like to file a complaint," she said.
"Regarding?"
"Someone fulfilled my prophecy. I spent fifteen years training. I have all the documentation. I was supposed to defeat the Dark Lord. But apparently some farm boy with a sword named Steve beat me to it."
I pulled up her file. "Sarah Ironheart. Yes. I see you have excellent paperwork. Very thorough. All sections completed properly."
"So why did Edward Silverheart get to fulfill the prophecy instead?"
"He filed a Temporal Exception Request with proper administrative support. His destiny was approved retroactively through causally sound intervention."
"That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair. Destiny is just bureaucracy. Sometimes people with mediocre paperwork succeed because they get administrative help." I paused. "On the bright side, you don't have to fight the Dark Lord anymore. You can do whatever you want."
"I trained my entire life for this."
"So consider this a career change. You've got excellent combat skills, leadership experience, and a properly filed destiny that didn't work out. Have you considered working for us?"
"Working where?"
"Department of Destiny. Prophecy Processing Division. We're always hiring people who understand proper documentation. Plus, you know what it's like to be on the other side of the paperwork."
She looked around our office. The cubicles. The filing cabinets full of temporal forms. The coffee machine that dispensed beverages from multiple timelines simultaneously.
"This is the Department of Destiny?" she said. "This is where prophecies come from?"
"Welcome to how the sausage is made. It's less mystical than you'd think."
"I trained to fight evil, not file forms."
"Sometimes fighting evil IS filing forms. The Dark Lord filled out his conquest permits incorrectly. That's why Edward won. Wrong paperwork, wrong timeline, causality rejected his victory condition." I handed her an application. "Think about it. We have decent benefits. Retirement plan. And you'll never have to worry about a prophecy again because you'll be writing them."
She took the application, looking dazed. "This is the worst hero's journey ever."
"Or the best administrative journey ever. Depends on perspective."
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Six months later, Sarah Ironheart was a Level 2 Prophecy Processor and surprisingly good at her job. She'd already prevented three timeline collapses and corrected a prophecy that accidentally predicted the apocalypse on the wrong date.
Edward Silverheart sent us quarterly reports about his post-destiny life. He'd become a motivational speaker. "Anyone Can Be a Chosen One (With Proper Documentation)" was his tagline. Steve the Soulrender was in a museum.
The Dark Lord's fortress was now a historical site. Tours twice daily.
And me? I got promoted to Level 4, which meant more complicated prophecies and more paperwork, but also a better coffee machine.
"Wei," Theron dropped a file on my desk. "New prophecy. Incomplete paperwork. Someone's trying to fulfill a destiny without proper artifact documentation."
I opened it. "Are you kidding me? They named their sword Kevin?"
"Kevin the Dawnbringer."
"Following in Steve's footsteps. This is your fault, you know. You created a trend."
"I created administrative efficiency. If these Chosen Ones would just file their forms correctly in the first place, we wouldn't have to keep time traveling to fix them."
"Where's the fun in that?"
I looked at the prophecy. Another farm kid. Another dark lord. Another incorrectly filed destiny requiring temporal intervention and probably too much coffee.
"I'll handle it," I said.
"Of course you will. You're the expert now." Theron smiled. "The Chosen One of Paperwork."
"That's the worst title ever."
"It's already in the prophecy database. I filed the forms."
I threw a pen at him. He dodged. We both laughed, two bureaucrats in the Department of Destiny, maintaining reality through proper documentation and reasonable amounts of time travel.
Somewhere in a tavern six months ago, a farm kid was starting a hero's journey.
And somewhere in the future, I'd have to travel back and help them fill out the forms.
Because that's what we do.
We process prophecies.
We file destinies.
We make sure fate has proper documentation.
And occasionally, we let swords be named Kevin.
It's not glamorous.
But it's honest work.
And someone has to do it.
Even if that someone is a Level 4 Prophecy Processor with too much coffee and not enough respect for dramatic convention.
Especially then.
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END
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