"Congratulations" the note read, "you are the Chosen One. On you the whole world, all of reality, hinges." This seemed too much to handle, and Eric swallowed hard before continuing on.
"Now, you might be wondering what you did, what qualifies you to be the Chosen One. Nothing. Not a damn thing. This is one of those fate things. Call it foreordained birth, genetics, bad luck, whatever, but you're the guy, and nothing's going to change that. You, and only you, have the potential to save the world. Don't screw up."
Below the indecipherable signature was the postscript, "By the way, not everyone is wild about the idea of saving the world. Some want to watch it burn, which means you've got a giant bullseye on your back. And your front. No pressure, though."