[Nectarine Sunset]

Questions, answers, memories-

-what more is there to ask for?

There is somebody who is here.

They've got a story to share.

When was the first time I saw the future?

It's hard to remember, now - but I can think back on it still.
Hayden, right? Katrina's father. My near-father. Maybe I should've called him that.
He introduced me to it. A spark of his aether lives in my eyes.
It isn't even a pinprick of what could be, but he gave me that.

So now I see ten seconds into the future. I can flick it on and off, but-
The goal is supposed to be seeing it all the time.
Aether is love, after all. Isn't it? That's what it feels like.
That elation as the world spins and grows only ever-warmer.
It feels like how I want to make people feel.

I don't remember the last time I looked at myself and saw brown eyes.
They glow this bright blue back at me now. I like it just as much.
I like it more, even, but that's a little harder to admit.

There is somebody who prays for them.

That is all they find themselves doing.

That’s me right there, yes — do you see me in that cloak?

We all wore cloaks like that; I was the last one to hold onto it.

I left it back in a place where I’d grown comfortable.

Perhaps I should have kept it on me. That would’ve been nice.

I never had the guts to ask any of you what exactly I should do.

To make something for me — to grow something with me — to fight with me.

Sometimes, you used me as bait. That was okay! That was fine.

But I wonder what I got besides practice and knowledge with you.

I was family, you said. I didn’t even get a goodbye when you sailed away.

I was someone you cared for, you said. You didn’t question why I was collared.

I loved you all.

Did you feel the same for me?

Was I lying to myself?

It’s gotten easier and easier to see what’s coming.

Sure, I’ll never admit why to you — but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been.
It’s about inputs. It’s about outputs. It’s about how many factors there are.
After all, the amount of types of fish in a stream determines what you might catch.
That’s how it is with me and the future.
So what happens when you pare the fish down?

The amount of people I know has grown to be… less and less.
That’s putting it delicately; it’s alright in the same turn of events, though.
Sometimes, people leave. They don’t come back.
They can abandon you. They’ve abandoned me.
They’ve abandoned me so many times for others.
I am everyone’s second priority, and I am nobody’s first.
At least I know that it won’t take me by surprise anymore.

There is somebody who speaks for you.

Sometimes, you wish they wouldn’t.

How many people did I find who needed somebody?

I never told anyone of them — nobody but Sabriel, at least. I miss her.

I miss her voice from here. I probably won’t hear it again in the same way.

She’s going to hate me if I ever get to leave — but that’s a big if.

Let’s see — there was, to begin with, Desmor. He got marooned.

We had a conversation. I told the man he was still human.

He later let me go while his companions ravaged all else in their path.

Then there was Scathach. Then there was Misery. I miss them both.

I like to think both of them are out there somewhere.

Only one of them really is.

Victras. He loved me. I’m not sure if he still does.

Fritz. She cared about me in that selfish way, too. She’s dead now.

The dark is something I do not shy from; it doesn’t shy away from me, either.

But it doesn’t act on my behalf. I simply must exist for them to exist.

It is a possessive, cloying thing.

It never did me any good.

But it did them good, and that’s all I care about.

What people don’t tell you about seeing the future is that it sucks sometimes.

They hear what you can do, and they think of an almost-seer.
There's encouragement to hone your talent — but they don’t think about it.
How much must it hurt to know that there will never be a surprise?
How agonizing is it to know that you have lost before you fight?
Does it hurt to hear bad news before it can be said out loud?

Some things still shock me, but those are aberrant ones.
Lies that are made — tolls taken in brutality.
Those are the uncommon timelines. Some are… easier to guess.
You just have to know people. You know them inside out.
You tear open their guts and you taste their blood.
Except— it’s salt, really, that hits the tongue.

It’s tears. It’s always tears, if you’re lucky.
If you’re unlucky, you get bitterness instead.

There is somebody locked away on your behalf.

Their routine is monotonous.

Stir fries, growing plants, reading what they can get their hands on.

Playing dress-up. Talking to a handful of people, at the most.

Two years. Over two years, even, they spend there.

It is all for your own rituals, your own routines.

I know that it was never about me.

You could very easily get the help of someone else, right?

We both know that, Jokul. I can imagine you doing it already.

There are Radiants within Vdalion.

You never needed to take me.

Why did you take me if you could not keep me safe?

I ask these questions now, too late for them.

They’re the sort of answer I wish I had.

But the future doesn’t give answers — only questions.

There’s even less now. Even less to distract me.

It tastes like the idea of a mashed potato sometimes.
There is no routine except sitting here, chained to a wall.
Sometimes, I feel like I know why they do it — because it’s a question in that line.
I ask them why, in the miasma. They answer uncategorical.
Then — and only then — it’s a matter of filtering down the probabilities.
My job is to know. If I know, then I can predict in those immediate seconds.
Many things are explainable with a single question and answer.

So I know a few things, right?
It wants to make me a cambion as a sign of possession.
I’m chained to a wall in a cage in a cage and guarded for… “safety”.
It wanted me because I was unafraid. Because I was a Radiant.
What it gave away in exchange for my presence is a selfish, cowardly Drakanite.
She dances with taint and flirts with disaster, and now I suffer for it.

Go figure. It always comes back around.
That’s the final secret about telling the future: you’ve just got to remember the past.
It always repeats, and it rings true more often than one would think.

There is somebody here for you.

Except they’re not — someone else deemed it so, after all.

It was a mistake to think I had any true friends up there — at least at that moment.

The last time I remember feeling like I did was the last blessing I gave.

It still rings true around the heart of someone I know quite well.

I miss her. I miss her voice and her demeanor, how it all felt…

Calm. Silent in the good ways, not in the ways in which there was nothing but sorrow.

Sabriel’s behavior was exactly what I needed to anchor me;

and now does my mind run rampant, claiming me in what may yet be;

and now does my body ache, a self-defense worth nothing;

and now does my heart know that no effort could have ever saved it;

now do I realize a thousand hands will always be clawing for me,

digging at my skin to get inside my soul

and I can only hope

that my truest friend

the one who was there

does not decide it’s time

to tear herself asunder

from the inside out