Tales of the Irreverent Prophet

Posted on Mon Sep 1st, 2025 @ 11:55pm by Patin

477 words; about a 2 minute read

The young Bajoran knelt before the Orb, breath trembling as the sacred light spilled out in ribbons of white and gold. For a moment, time dissolved. The silence was vast, and then the Prophets spoke, their voices overlapping in strange, eternal harmony.

“You are here. You were here. You will be here. The river flows both ways.”

The supplicant shivered, trying to grasp the meaning. The words echoed through his mind like water slipping through his fingers. And then —

A rough laugh cut across the stillness. Low, throaty, irreverent.

“Oh, for flame’s sake, don’t look so lost. They’re talking in circles again, kid.”

The seeker’s eyes widened. A woman was standing there where no one had stood before. She wasn’t luminous like the Prophets, nor serene. Her jacket bulged with pockets, a cigar dangled from her lips, and her arms were crossed with the practiced stance of someone who didn’t give a damn.

“You... you’re not... ”

“Not one of them? Damn right. Name’s Patin.” She waved her cigar through the air. “Don’t bother asking how I got here, long story. Point is, they sent me to translate before your head explodes trying to untangle their poetry.”

The Prophets’ voices swelled again, displeased, their tones rippling like currents:
“Your mother. She weeps. She has wept. She will weep.”

Patin snorted. “Translation? Go see your bloody mother before she dies, or you’ll regret it forever. Simple, right? Why they can’t just say that, who knows right?”

The seeker gaped, caught between awe and sacrilege. “This… this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

Patin smirked and leaned in closer, smoke curling from her teeth. “Kid, life isn’t how it’s supposed to be. It’s how it is. Remember that. You don’t get answers wrapped in ribbons. You get choices, and sometimes they burn.”

The light shifted again, the Prophets murmuring their timeless riddles in the background. But the seeker hardly heard them, not with Patin’s words still ringing in his ears.

She straightened, tapped ash from her cigar onto the ground that wasn’t ground at all, and jabbed a thumb skyward. “Alright, looks like my time’s up. Listen to me, not their babble. Hold your friends close, visit your ma, and if anyone tries to own you, burn the bastard down.”

And then she was gone, leaving only the echo of her laugh bouncing through eternity.

When the seeker stumbled out of the Orb chamber, the priests looked at him expectantly. He bowed his head, still shaken, and whispered:

“The Prophets… they spoke. But one of them, she was different. She… she called herself Patin.”

The Vedek frowned. “Patin?”

The young man only nodded. His hands still trembled. He had expected riddles. Instead, he had received truth, rough-edged, sharp, and unforgettable.

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