I see the future.

I always have.

I always will.

It's a curse disguised as a gift, a cruel, malevolent trick that steals my breath and claws at my sanity.

The future doesn’t approach quietly—it crashes into me, an avalanche of noise and terror that seeps deep into the marrow of my bones.

It comes in flickers & waves —moments I do not want, memories that do not belong to me yet. 

The sky fractures into gold, its light spilling like blood from a wound, stretching outward endlessly. It should be beautiful. It should be warm. But there is no warmth here. The sun does not touch this place.

It's just cold. Ice cold. The kind that seeps beneath the skin, the kind that never leaves.

The air is thick as stones, damp with the scent of iron, mud, and decay. The metallic bite of blood clings to the back of my throat, mingling with the deep, earthen rot of things left to ruin.

The ground is wet and slick. It's dark where blood has dried. Bright, red like roses— where it is fresh. It fills the cracks between the shattered blades, seeps into tattered banners, drowns the land itself in crimson.

Swords. There are so many swords. So many swords scattered without mercy.

They litter the plains, plains that were once beautiful, now lost to ruin. Plains full of trampled lavender and orchids.

Some swords lie discarded, abandoned by the hands that once wielded them. Their edges have been dulled by time, their purpose has long since been spent. Others remain embedded in fingers that will never move again.

And the bodies… I cannot unsee them, though I wish with every fiber of my being that I could.

They are strewn across the field, tangled in unnatural shapes.

They're twisting as though they had still been reaching—still fighting, still clinging to something they could never hold again. 

Some lie curled inward, hands pressed to wounds they could not mend. Others stare blankly at the sky, their eyes are frozen in the final moments of their last breath.

They are strangers... And yet, I know them.

A girl with short auburn hair tied in playful pigtails, lips parted, caught in mid-sentence. A boy with cracked glasses, his fingers still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, unwilling to let go even when life abandoned him.

And then—another boy, him.

He’s sprawled in the dirt like the rest. Rich golden-blond hair, matted with blood and dust. Clear blue-green eyes—eyes that once gleamed like the sea—now dull, half-lidded beneath his furrowed brow. His uniform is torn, there’s a deep wound carving through him where steel meets flesh. 

He looks almost peaceful. Almost. But he will not wake. I hated the way his eyes stared at me.  I will hate them even if I don't know him yet. But now that they are dull, I almost miss them.

His name is lost to me— a vital piece of who he was, slipping away like grains of sand no matter how desperately I try to clutch it. The memory claws at the edges of my mind, screaming to be remembered, only to be swallowed whole like it has swallowed them all.

The longer I stare, the more it hurts. I turn. I cannot bear to see him anymore….

As I turn, I find I am not alone.

A boy stands at the edge of the ruin, dark brown— almost black —hair tousled by a wind that does not move. His amber-gold eyes flicker with the flames.

I do not know his name. But I know the way he looks at me—as if I have already been lost to him. It’s like he is seeing the ghost of someone he once knew. But I am not gone yet. Not like the rest of them. 

I refuse to be.

I reach for him. I don't know why. I only know that I must.

I try to call out, but my voice does not exist. It’s soundless. 

My body is slow, my limbs heavy, my feet sinking into the earth as if the battlefield itself is trying to keep me here.

His lips part. His voice haunts me.

"This is your doing..."

And then—

The battlefield is gone.

I see the future.

It does not whisper of hope,

nor does it weep for me with mercy.

And in that terrible moment, I knew—

I am a bird locked in a cage.

A prison built of iron and gold.

No matter how far I flee, no matter how much I fight...

I don't know if I am ever meant to fly.