This should be fun to write. The generic "a kit must fulfill their prophecy and maybe become Clan leader" fics are everywhere, but I'm writing this one because I was inspired by the book series The Wheel of Time. It's the classic tale of a farm boy who must save the world, but it's done so well that it becomes the definitive example of that story. This is just a side project that I'm working on while writing my main story, Golden Dawn: Lost Sunrise. I hope that cynical fanfic readers can find something to enjoy in my story of every generic Warriors fanfic.

Prologue

Unlike the other medicine cats, Rowanpelt did not revel in keeping secrets. He felt that his duty as an emissary of StarClan was to share his knowledge with the cats of the Clans. If a medicine cat who had never spoken his truths died, he would be taking his wisdom with him. So just moments before, when he had learned that there was a prophecy for him, Rowanpelt had immediately set about deciding which of his Clanmates he tell it.

The brown medicine cat strode through StarClan, heading toward the Court of the Elder Gods. It was an immense cavern made of white stone, and it was there that the prophecy would be forged. The gods were not simple oracles, finding destiny in visions of the future. They unravelled time itself, pulling unborn prophecies from the vast ocean of fate. Once the prophecy became tangible, it had to be touched by a medicine cat (or a "Herald of Fate", as they were called in StarClan). Only then would it reveal what the future held.

As Rowanpelt pushed his way through the crowded field, he reminisced about his experiences as one of StarClan's chosen. Many of the places in the starry world held special significance in Rowanpelt's memories. He could see the Stone Meadow of Champions, were cats duelled for sport, proving who was the strongest. He eyed the path to the Pool of Light, where cats could observe the waking world, as the living cats struggled through their daily battles. Rowanpelt shivered as he saw ash spew from the Firepit in the distance. He had been tested there on the day he had been named a full medicine cat. He would not soon forget the things he had seen their, and what he had been forced to endure.

Finally, he reached the den where gods thrived. Two of the Star Dragons (StarClan warriors who had been touched by the gods) stood guard, but they waved him in immediately. The medicine cat hummed to himself as he padded into the majestic cavern. Magnificent white columns stretched from floor to ceiling throughout the vast cave, all made from unblemished white rock. At the centre of the cave stood eight thrones. Seven were for the gods, while the eighth was for the Speaker of Storms, the cat addressing the gods. Rowanpelt took the Speaker's throne.

When the brown medicine cat visited the Court of the Elder Gods, he usually found one or two gods there, waiting to deliver a message. This time, all seven of the Divine Thrones were filled.

"All of you?" he gasped, shocked. "Is this prophecy so important that every god is forced to assemble?"

Vanilor gave him a somber look from behind those strange things covering his eyes. The other gods called them spectacles, although Rowanpelt did not understand how the name could fit them. "All prophecies are wonder," Vanilor purred, his tongue honeyed. "They are the treasure of the Clans. They are StarClan's greatest gift: hope. With hope guiding warriors, they can walk in the darkness that all others fear. For why do they need to worry about being damned when they know that light will break through the darkness and lead them back home?"

Matria eyed Vanilor with a look that quieted him. Vanilor was the god of words and wisdom, but this made him prone to rambling. Matria then turned her head to address Rowanpelt.

"The gods are not all gathered for the prophecy, although it is entwined with the fate of light itself," she explained. "No, StarClan is preparing for war. The Nightlands are rising, and we must remain vigilant. The End of Days is coming." In her paw, the war goddess clutched a spear. Matria and NestClan both fought with sticks, although NestClan's sticks did not have sharp ends.

Rowanclaw shivered at the announcement. There were three Clans living beneath a great hill. They were FloodClan, the tireless and determined, StoneClan, the powerful and unyielding, and NestClan, the swift and honourable. However, there was a fourth territory. The Nightlands, as it was called, held all the horrors and beasts that had been cast from the heavens long ago, in the great war between Stars and Shadows. Few were brave enough to venture into the Nightlands, and those who did never returned. Their souls never even found their way into StarClan.

Risoven, goddess of nature, spoke to Rowanpelt. "In these turbulent times, a prophecy has come," she declared. "Let the Herald of Fate learn the path that must be taken if the shadows are to be vanquished."

A small silver orb floated to Rowanpelt's seat. The medicine cat touched it with his nose, and the words of a prophecy instantly filled his mind.

"Light fails and nightmares reign as day and night clash to rule the sky. Let the Stars chose their champion once more. Feathers drawn to the living world will stand firm, waking the light that slumbers in the shade. And the light will blink out, leaving the Clans to face their reckoning, and their choice. Let us all find deliverance."

Rowanpelt spoke the prophecy to the court, and Matria frowned. "It's a war song," the goddess mewed. "It's part of a rallying cry for the End of Days. That bit always did stick out to me, since the rest of the song is about the glory of warriors."

"The part about feathers is new," Vanilor added, speaking hastily due to Matria's harsh gaze.

Rowanpelt bowed. "Thank you for you wisdom, elder ones," he mewed. "May your claws stay sharp in the battles to come."

He jumped from his throne and padded out of the Court, back towards the realm of the living.

…

Rowanpelt quietly watched Echopaw. You will bear the weight of the Clans some day, young one. If only you didn't have to witness the hatred and horrors of the Firepit. Echopaw was blind to his mentor's worry as he nonchalantly sorted through the herbs. The tom had been the medicine apprentice for two moons, and he was completely devoted to his duties.

The two of them were back in FloodClan's camp now. No floods had swept through recently, giving the cats time to dry out. The camp was built upon a large reed bed so that it floated when the floods came. The architects worked tirelessly, making sure that no flaws lay in the foundation as they built rafts and new structures for the Clan. The architects and warriors would be sleeping now. Hawkstar had been an architect before he was elected Clan leader, and he made sure that his fellows got ample rest. Sleepy architects made sloppy mistakes.

"Finished at last!" declared Echopaw. Rowanpelt nodded to him. As always, his apprentice's organization was flawless.

Rowanpelt sighed, and tried to decide what he would say. No more secrets. "Echopaw," he asked at last, "do you trust me?"

The golden tabby blinked, caught off guard. "Not particularly," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Darkness is rising, and we need to stand strong to face it," Rowanpelt explained. "I received a prophecy from the Elder Gods. It says-"

"Whatever," snapped Echopaw. "Can it wait? I've got herbs to gather and things to do. Tell me in the morning." Without another word, he scampered out of the den.

Rowanpelt sighed. If Echopaw wasn't going to devote himself to the Clans, then so be it. He would find another ally, even if they were a cat from NestClan or StoneClan. There were no borders for medicine cats. But first, he had to check something.

The medicine cat padded out of his den and over to the Nursery. Recently the architects had added a cover to Nursery so that the kits would be protected from predators when the camp flooded. It was just one of the many ingenious ideas that was improving life in FloodClan.

Rowanpelt strode into the Nursery and nodded to Silverscale. The tabby she-cat was a permanent queen. After giving birth, she-cats stopped their milk with parsley. Then they left their kits with one of the permanent queens, allowing them to return to their duties as a warrior or as an architect.

"Would there happen to be a Featherkit here?" Rowanpelt asked. He didn't pay much attention to the Nursery now that he had an apprentice.

The young queen nodded. "The little darling is sleeping right over there," she said, pointing out a tortoiseshell and white she-kit. "She's three moons old, but I think you'll find that medicine cats, unlike warriors and architects, can't have two apprentices at the same time."

"That's fine," Rowanpelt purred, bowing his head in thanks. "I just wanted to meet her. I'm doing some work for Hawkstar, you see."

The brown tom padded over to the she-kit and touched noses with her. "Rest well, little one," he whispered. "One day you will be called to rise up. When that time comes, you too will hold the fate of the Clans in your paws."

The half moon shone brightly as he stepped back into the camp. Rowanpelt momentarily wondered just who had made the war song that was now a prophecy, but he shrugged it off. There were important duties to attend to. He would have to deal with his apprentice's behaviour, while finding an ally who he could tell the prophecy to. And of course, he would continue to serve his Clan.

But for now, he simply needed to rest his weary mind. The brown medicine cat padded back into his den.

…

The idiot medicine cat had not noticed three figures watching from the depths of darkness. Even if he had, he probably would have quickly forgotten about them. Their leader did not know whether to feel angry or smug. None who lived today would recognize them, but cats had once feared the names Noctris, Davlin, and Teshia.

The three cats conversed, as softly as the wind's whisper.

"So StarClan are desperate enough that they have entrusted their fate to a kit?"

"The fools. While she is still so young, this kit will be easily manipulated."

"The medicine cat will be keeping close eye on her."

"He will, but we are the shadows that haunt the night. We can meet her in places beyond his knowledge."

"Of course. I did not seek to question you."

"So, we make Featherkit into the champion of the Nightlands. What do we do then?"

"We win, of course. This time no light will shine bright enough to strike us down."

"Yes. This time shadows will eclipse all of the world's hope."

The three warriors of the Nightlands vanished, becoming one with the night. Still, the young she-kit slumbered. Blissfully in the care of her dreams, she was unaware of the power she would one day wield and the hardships she would face on the path to claim it.

To be continued…

That's the prologue done! So far, what do you think? Have I managed to make the concept into something enjoyable? (Yes, I actually did come up with all this in the span of half a math class.)

Anyway, if you enjoy it so far, I have some other stories I can recommend. Golden Dawn: Lost Sunrise is my dream work, and you should check it out if you like my writing style. It tells the story of three cats struggling to prevent a war whose seeds are being sown by a vengeful tom known only as "The Watcher".

Also, there are two stories from my favourites you should check out. One is Icepath's Story: Silent Skies. I'm not entirely sure where it's going, but it's good. Also, I'm editing it. As well, check out Skychasers. It's a story with great worldbuilding, and it's set in a treacherous mountain terrain where ruthless tactics rule all. There are some neat plot twists, and the only thing that I don't like is how the villain dies (Spoiler Alert: some random guys shoots him with a gun). If you can forgive that ridiculous ending, you'll find a wonderful story.

Until next time, thanks for reading!