A moment after stepping into your time-traveling pod, you finish entering the time period target and hit the "Launch" button, and within a few seconds, you've found yourself within the late Middle Ages of the 1400s, and your pod has appeared within the outer fields of the kingdom. The working peasants look over in shock and confusion when a blinding flash appears and then a strange metal contraption takes its place. They cautiously gather around the pod as you step out, gripping their farming and forestry tools, ready to use them as weapons if necessary. Whispering quietly to one another, an older worker musters up the courage to speak first. "...Who are you..? What was that?" Another peasant comments, a tone of suspicion and skepticism in his voice. "It was probably witchcraft! Explain yourself!" The others agree, despite being quite frightened.

The villagers gasp and fall silent, staring at you with wide eyes. One man, who looks to be the leader, slowly steps forward. "You claim to be from the future... But where is this 'fiction' you speak of? We have never heard such tales." He crosses his arms over his chest, looking unimpressed. Another villager mutters something about casting spells on them while reaching for a rock hidden in his tunic. The atmosphere becomes increasingly tense as whispers spread through the crowd.

The lord's steward, who had been observing silently from the sidelines, clears his throat. "Perhaps we should take the young lady back to the castle for questioning," he suggests calmly. The peasants immediately eye him warily, murmuring among themselves. The leader nods, seemingly deciding whether or not to trust your story. "Very well. Come with me."

He motions for you to follow him, leading you away from the curious and suspicious glances of the others. As you walk, you catch glimpses of the village children trailing after at a distance, wide-eyed and eager for more information about this strange visitor from another time.

You are led into Lord Hintrel's study, the room adorned with various artifacts and scrolls collected during his many travels. The steward excuses himself, leaving you alone with the stern-looking lord. "So, girl," Lord Hintrel begins, eyeing you skeptically, "you claim to be from the future... Interesting tale." He folds his arms across his chest, leaning against his ornately carved desk. "Prove it."

At the sight of the gun, Lord Hintrel freezes in place. His eyes widen in shock before narrowing suspiciously. "Where did you get that?" he demands, his voice tight with fear and confusion. Though he has never seen such a weapon before, he recognizes its potential for destruction and is forced to consider whether you truly come from another time. "Very well," he says slowly, rising from his seat, "if you can prove your story, perhaps I will allow you to stay... for now."

He gestures for one of his guards, who had been standing nearby throughout the exchange, to follow him out of the room. Moments later, they return accompanied by several other guards. "Take her back to the peasants," Lord Hintrel orders, "but keep an eye on her. If she attempts anything suspicious, subdue her immediately."

The guards surround you, their swords drawn as they escort you back through the castle grounds towards the village. Peasant whispers turn into murmurs of fear and curiosity as you are brought before them again. The leader steps forward, his posture more confident now that he knows you're being watched. "So, you claim to be from the future..." He trails off, waiting for your response.

Without warning, the guards lunge at you, knocking you to the ground. The peasants gasp and recoil in shock as weapons are pointed at your throat, ready to strike. One guard kneels beside you, forcing your hands behind your back and beginning to bind them with thick ropes. "You'll pay for your witchcraft, sorceress!" he growls.

Another villager, a woman, cries out that she recognizes your clothes as the sort worn by witches in her dreams. Panic rises among the crowd, and the calls for your capture and punishment grow ever louder. Lord Hintrel watches impassively from the shadows, content to let the law take its course... unless, of course, you manage to prove your innocence in some way.

The guards freeze, hesitating for a moment before exchanging glances. One of them slowly steps forward, reaching out to grab the gun, but you twist away and bring it up before his grasp can close around it. "Easy there, lady," he warns. The peasants cower further back, their eyes wide with fear. "Now put that thing down before someone gets hurt." His voice is stern, but not threatening; a warning rather than an order.

The guard pauses, considering this request. He looks around at his fellow guards and then back to you. A long moment passes as tension fills the air. Finally, the guard lowers his sword slightly, followed by another and another until all of them are sheathed once more. With the weapons out of the picture, the situation deflates somewhat. "That's better," the guard says, his tone less imposing now. "Now, why don't you come with us?"

"Lord Hintrel has made his decision regarding your presence here," one of the guards explains calmly. "But we must still take you back to him. It is his right to question you and decide your fate. If you cooperate and speak truthfully, perhaps he will show mercy." The other guards nod in agreement, their expressions unreadable behind their helms. You can feel their eyes upon you as they wait for your reply.

Without further ado, the guards turn around and begin leading you back towards Lord Hintrel's study. Along the way, some peasants dart nervous glances in your direction, fearful of what your fate may be at the hands of their lord. As you approach the castle once more, you see Lord Hintrel standing before his desk, his face impassive as he awaits your return. The steward stands nearby, eyes locked on you intently. The guards halt outside the open doorway and gesture for you to enter on your own.

The moment you step into Lord Hintrel's study, all attention is focused on you. The lord stands with arms folded across his chest, observing your every move while the steward silently hovers nearby. "So, girl," Lord Hintrel says after a long moment, "it seems we have yet another situation on our hands. I must admit, I am intrigued by your story... but also highly suspicious." He tilts his head, studying your expression before continuing. "Prove to me that you are not a witch, and perhaps I will allow you to remain here without further harm. Convince me otherwise, however..." He lets the sentence hang in the air ominously.

The room feels heavy with tension, every noise seeming magnified as all eyes are locked onto you.

Lord Hintrel's expression remains skeptical. "You claim to be from the future, yet know nothing about witches? It strains credulity. Perhaps if you were to perform some task that would require such knowledge..." He pauses, considering. "For example, you could tell me what happens in the future. If your predictions come true, then perhaps I might consider letting you go free."

His offer hangs between you, the weight of it pressing down like a physical force. Your best hope for freedom lies in convincing him of your story through prophecy... but there are no guarantees that he will believe you even if you succeed. The choice is yours: attempt to prove your innocence and secure your release, or keep silent and risk being branded a witch and condemned to die.

Lord Hintrel listens intently as you recount this tale of future events. His expression grows increasingly doubtful as he processes the information, however. When you finish speaking, he crosses his arms once more and tilts his head slightly to the side. "Intriguing," he says noncommittally. "But I have heard many tales of futures filled with marvels and strife, both fantastic and horrifying. How do I know that yours is not some fabrication designed to deceive me?"

He paces across the room before turning back to face you. "You will return to this very spot on the morning of the twenty-second day after today's sunset, and we shall see if your words come true. If they do not, I fear there shall be little mercy left for you, girl."

As you turn to leave the study, Lord Hintrel barks out an order for guards to accompany you until such time as the specified date arrives. Reluctantly, you are escorted from the castle by a small army of armed soldiers who remain wary but curious about their unusual charge. The peasants watch in silence as you depart, many exchanging glances that speak volumes about their suspicions and doubts regarding your fate. As the days pass, news of your situation spreads through the village like wildfire, each retelling growing more embellished than the last. It is not long before word reaches Lord Hintrel's ears that whispers have turned into rumors, and those rumors have begun to shape public opinion into something decidedly unflattering for both yourself and the lord.

Lord Hintrel sits behind his ornate desk, steepled fingers pressed together as he stares at the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. He scarcely notices your entrance, so deep in thought is he. When you clear your throat to gain his attention, he looks up sharply, surprise flitting across his features before they harden once more. "Ah, yes. You are the one who claimed knowledge of future events." His tone betrays no hint of emotion; it might as well be describing the weather. "Come forward, girl, and tell me what you foresaw."

The guards stand at attention near the door, their weapons at the ready should you attempt anything foolish. The tension in the air is palpable, each breath like a drawn-out exhale.

With a grunt, Lord Hintrel tosses aside the piece of parchment you've apparently seen fit to place on his desk. It lands with a rustle, revealing what appears to be an official order summoning him to the throne to take his rightful place as king. He glances back up at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You seem to know much about my future," he says slowly, "but I cannot simply ignore such documents. Show me that this is not some fabrication meant to deceive me further."

The steward clears his throat, and Lord Hintrel turns to glare at him. "What?" he growls impatiently.

The servant gestures towards the bookshelf behind the lord's chair. "My liege, if it pleases you, we could consult the texts within those books... perhaps they contain information regarding the circumstances surrounding this document's authenticity."

Lord Hintrel hesitates, eyeing you warily as you make your claim. After a long moment, he finally relents, nodding curtly at one of the guards. "Bring forth these books, and let us see if this girl speaks truly." The guard bows low before turning and retrieving several leather-bound volumes from the shelves. He carries them over to where you stand before the lord, setting them down with a loud thud.

With trembling fingers, Lord Hintrel flips through the aged pages until he finds what he's looking for - an entry detailing his rise to the throne and explaining the circumstances surrounding the Battle of Bosworth. He glances up at you, then back down again, clearly unnerved by the knowledge contained within these ancient texts. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he looks up once more.

His expression is grim, but there is a newfound respect there as well. "Very well," he says quietly. "I will not deny that your tale holds merit. For now, however, I must still consider my options carefully." His gaze drifts briefly towards the open window before returning to meet yours. "Perhaps it would be best if you were to remain here for the time being... at least until I have had time to think on this matter further."