Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
He was the man of two planets, drawn through the blackness of space to save a nation from ruthless invaders. He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. spoken by so many reviving unfortunates through the ages: And at once there was an answer: " You lie upon the world Dondromogon. " I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, The voice had a note of triumph. "You do not know that. It is as well, for this will be a birth and beginning of your destined leadership on Dondromogon." "Destined—leadership—" I began to repeat, and fell silent. I had need to think. The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from Dondromogon might be. "Birth and beginning—destined leadership—" Fantastic! And yet, for all I could say to the contrary, unvarnishedly true. "Dondromogon?" I mumbled. "The name is strange to me." "It is a world the size of your native one," came words of information. "Around a star it spins, light-years away from the world of your birth. One face of Dondromogon ever looks to the light and heat, wherefore its metals run in glowing seas. The other face is ever away in cold darkness, with its air freezing into solid chunks. But because "War is fought between the two strips of habitable ground. War, unceasing, bitter, with no quarter asked, given or expected. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. Now come invaders, to reap the benefits of discovery and toil." A pause. "You find that thought unpleasant? You wish to right that called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid "There's a bigger reward for capture than for warning," objected "I tell the truth," was my reply, not very gracious. "You will have to prove that," he admonished me. "What proof have I?" I demanded. "On this world of yours—Dondromogon, study," he commanded. "On the shelf behind my desk, bring the great gold-bound book that is third from the right." Then he turned back, and bowed toward me. "Surely you are Yandro, the Conquering Stranger," he said, intoning as if in formal prayer. "Pardon these short-sighted ones—deign to save us from our enemies—" The girl Doriza spoke to the officer: "If Sporr speaks truth, and he generally does, you have committed a blasphemy." The other made a little grimace. "This may be Yandro, though I'm a plain soldier and follow the classics very little. The First Comers are souls to worship, not to study. If indeed he is Yandro," and he was most respectful, "he will appreciate, like a good military mind, my caution against possible impostors." "Who might Yandro be?" I demanded, very uncomfortable in my bonds and loose draperies. Old Sporr almost crowed. "You see? If he was a true imposter, he would The officer faced me, with a sort of baffled respect. "I still say you will understand my caution," he addressed me, with real respect and shyness this time. "If you are Yandro himself, you can prove it. The prophecy even sketches a thumb-print—" And he held the book toward me. "The same," said Doriza. And they were all on their knees before me. "Forgive me, great Yandro," said the officer thickly. "I did not know." "The Newcomers," supplemented Doriza. "They have taken the "Other Side" of Dondromogon, and would take our side as well. We defend ourselves What—" "Pardon, great Yandro," babbled Sporr. "I was saying that I arranged food, as always, for whatever guest should come. Please follow." of which Sporr spoke. sight of me, something like a grin of triumph flashed through his beard. Then he bowed, supple and humble, his palms together. "It is indeed Yandro, our great chief," he mumbled. Then he turned and crossed the room. A sort of mouthpiece sprouted from the wall. "I announce," he intoned into it. "I announce, I, Sporr, the reader and fore-teller of wisdom. Yandro is with us, he awaits his partners and friends. Let them meet him in the audience hall." frame a word. Then, suddenly, she was on her knee, catching my hand and kissing it. "I serve Yandro," she vowed tremulously. "Now and forever—and happy that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all Dondromogon." "Please get up," I bade her, trying not to sound as embarrassed as I felt. "Come with me. There is still much that I do not understand." "I am Yandro's orderly and helper," she said. Rising, she ranged herself at my left hand. "Will Yandro come this way? He will be awaited in the audience hall." mixture of awe and brightness. "It is necessary that we live like this," she explained. "The hot air of Dondromogon's sunlit face is ever rising, and the cold air from the dark side comes rushing under to fill the vacuum. Naturally, our strip of twilight country is never free of winds too high and fierce to Doriza had no answer that time, but Sporr spoke up behind us: "Great Yandro is wise as well as powerful. But the Newcomers do not want to help, not even to conquer. They want to obliterate us. There is nothing to do—not for lifetimes—but to fight them back at the two poles." traffic. Doriza paused before a great portal, closed by a curtainlike sheet of dull metal. She spoke into a mouthpiece: "Doriza, gentlewoman of the guard, conducts Yandro, the Conquering Stranger, to greet his lieutenants!" I have said that the portal was closed by a curtainlike metal sheet others, who may have lived too long in their earth-buried shelters. And Doriza now spoke to the gathering: "Yandro, folk of the Council! He deigns to give you audience." " Yandro! " They all spoke the name in chorus, and bowed toward me. Silence then, a silence which evidently I must break. I broke it: infant. I hear wonderful things, of which I seem to be the center. Are they true?" "The tenth part of the wonders which concern mighty Yandro have not been told," intoned Sporr, ducking his bearded head in a bow, but fixing me with his wise old eyes. the dignified folds of his purple robe. One carefully-tended hand brushed back his ginger-brown hair, then toyed with a little moustache. "I am Gederr, senior of this Council," he purred. "If Yandro permits, I will speak simply. Our hopes have been raised by Yandro's return—the return presaged of old by those who could see the future, and more recently by the death in battle of the Newcomer champion, called Barak." even as they are without their battle-leader, so we have ours." "You honor me," I told him. "Yet I still know little. It seems that I am expected to aid and lead and save the people of this world called Dondromogon. But I must know them before I can help." Gederr turned his eyes upon the woman with the red hair, and gestured to her "Tell him, Elonie." Then he faced me. "Have we Yandro's

<question>:
Had the narrator vehemently denied his position as Yandro, would the opinions of the people have likely changed?

<options>:
A No, because the narrator would eventually be forced against his own will to be Yandro.
B Yes, because the narrator would have been sent back to Earth for his denial of the position.
C Yes, because the inhabitants would have instead acted distastefully towards the narrator for not wanting to assume the position.
D No, because the inhabitants strictly uphold and respect the prophecy that named the narrator as Yandro.

<answer>:

D