A bolt of blue lightning cuts through the darkness suddenly, CRACKING through trees and earth as it leaves blazing trails of a haunting azure glow in the wake of dispersing screams of terror. The new source of light illuminates what looks to be a devastated battleground, barren scorched earth littered with split trees, limp bodies painted scarlet, and ashen remains of god knows what else. As the vision clears, it still sways, compounded by a pounding heartbeat and labored breath. A hand tremulously reaches out from view to grip the ground as the person whose eyes we see through struggles to steady themself and push up from the ground—but hacks with a sharp groan when blood spills to the dirt just below their dropped gaze. The other hand swiftly grips the darkened slice that splits across their abdomen as they look down, vision starting to go bleary again at the truly alarming amount of blood that's been lost to the mired earth before their very eyes. It doesn't take long to collapse.

     A tilted vision of the horizon sees the upturned hazy maroon sky roaring with the cyan blaze, clouded with smoke and resounding in further screams as they grow more scant each time another life is snuffed out. A low hum starts to ring in their ears as consciousness is fading. But even as their sight is growing fainter, a pearl white figure serpentines across the field of view, clashing starkly against the ghastly colors of the hellish scene. The beastly figure rips toward this onlooker on the brink of death, as if they couldn't die fast enough—and lurches forth, stopping mere inches away from the hapless victim's face to meet eye-to-eye with narrow slit pupils swimming in a widened gaze of azure so cold and vivid, they remain the only crystal-clear image in the darkening, obscure view. Despite this monstrous appearance, beneath the scales, horns, and teeth, the face that watches with those icy pools almost resembles a man—almost the sweet features of a charming young lad. Almost in fear. Undeniably in rage. The ringing hum is unbearable. Snow white claws dripping with red stains thrust out toward the onlooker in the fading last moments of sight.

     SMACK.

     A snowy-haired young man mildly slaps the onlooker's face as he peers down on them from beneath a bright and cloudless sky. A childlike curiosity brims from his wide, azure gaze.

     “Heeey! Kansi! Wake up already! I'm starving.”

     Another man lies amid a puddle of messy black hair on a shoddy mat laid about the ground, gasping like he just remembered how to breath as he grips at his chest, as though his heart would escape otherwise. The fair-haired boy leans back, crouched with his knees out and arms folded across them as he merely perches to watch the other trying to get a hold on his breathing. The snowy boy seems unperturbed. He likely has been unperturbed by much in life, given the ornate robes and lavish jewelry he's swathed in—though they're a bit roughed up and dirty, like they hadn't been tended to with the delicateness needed in quite some time. It's a wonder someone like him is out here in the middle of the woods, crouching next to another shoddy mat, and a poorly pitched tent that only covers the vacant side and the charred remains of firewood gently wafting whispers of the embers that were choked out hours ago. The one who seems to be his companion, however, is not half as finely dressed, mostly plain-styled and dull-colored without intricate embroidery or vivid jewels or beads of any sort. He slowly sits up, still holding his chest as his breathing gradually calms. His other hand instinctively feels his stomach, but there's nothing besides the fraying ends of his own worn clothing.

     “Having nightmares again?”

     Kansi wipes the sweat from his brow with a sigh, not sparing a look in his direction as he grumbles dismissively, “Whatever.”

     The lavishly-dressed young man stands and stretches with a mild groan before planting his hands on his hips to survey the surrounding forest, whining dramatically, “I'm gonna die of starvation, so let's get a move on!”

     His companion unwraps a ribbon from his own arm to tie his mass of unruly hair back, still refusing to look his way. “You say that as if I'm not the one doing the hunting.” Having composed himself, he gets up, fixes his clothing, and takes up a bow and a quiver of arrows nestled among their collected belongings hidden away up in the tree.

     “I can be plenty help! Let me hunt this time!”

     The boy flexes his hand and in an instant it's shifted into pearl-white claws; Kansi petrifies at the sound, only siding a glance from the corner of his eye. He swiftly gets a grip again, closing his eyes and turning his head as he walks away, plucking the bowstring as he takes on an aloof air of boredom with astonishing coolness. “Nevermind, I'll get the meat. You start the cookfire.” ‘He's just like a spoiled child that never grew up. It's hard to believe he's some years younger than me.’

     “And DON'T use your powers!”

     The richly-adorned boy waves affirmatively, his hand returning to normal. He smiles without a care in the world. “I know what to do!”

     Kansi lowers his eyes to the bow as he goes his way, idly plucking away while his distant gaze turns somber.

     ‘I really hope I won't have to kill him.’

     ****

     A plump pheasant picks about the grass without concern, mistakenly—a taut bowstring silently points the iron tip of an arrow through the brush, and in a blink it sails through the air and catches the fowl straight through the jugular. The lavish boy's companion hops down from the tree branch he camped on to scout for prey, striding up to claim their meal. Once the arrow is wiped off and returned to the quiver, the bow is slung over his back, and the bird is tied up, he glances to the treetops to see a flimsy little plume of smoke drifting across the blue off in the distance.

     ‘This should be far enough...’ He reaches up to remove a single thin crystal earring dangling from within the plush black locks draping his shoulders. He grips it firmly between his finger and thumb as he holds up one hand and draws strange symbols in the air around it with the shard in the other. ‘It's been a month since I last reported in.’

     At the end, he holds the crystal like one would a small microphone as it gleams faintly, keeping his voice hushed and eyeing the surroundings with suspicion.

     “Obsidian observing the mongoose.”

     Inexplicably, a voice sounds, seemingly in his own head—some form of telepathy. A gentle, if bored, feminine voice answers his call. “What's your status, Obsidian?”

     “Year 21, Sun era. 5th lunar cycle. Day 16. The mongoose is still sleeping.”

     “How's the snake?”

     ‘Besides being a pain in my ass?’ “Neutral.”

     “Have you noticed any anomalies or unusual activity?”

     “Negative.”

     There's a pause.

     “You report the same thing every month, Obsidian.”

     A twinge of irritation crosses his face, miffing his tone. “Yeah, it's so you know if it stops, something happened! Would you rather know ahead of time, or too late??”

     Another pause.

     “Please continue, sir.”

     He perches on a smooth enough boulder, still keeping an eye out as he brings his voice down again. “Nothing of concern, but still prone to bite on a whim.”

     “Seems pretty on point for the snake.”

     Kansi hesitates, “Don't you think saying ‘the snake’ is both severely undermining the threat posed to me while also being unjustly vindictive?”

     “It's just the details of the case, sir.”

     As the conversation continues, the "snake" in question continues adding measly branches to the strangely blue campfire and poking at it with a stick, quite pleased with his work.

     “All I'm saying is if we're actually trying to save him, we could at least sound a little more sincere about it.”

     “Like how?”

     The companion leans back as he watches that thin stream of smoke across the distant skyline. “What about ‘the prince’?”

     “Do you have any idea how many princes are involved in our assignments here?”

     “Fair enough...” he mutters, weary. “Why not just call him Yuan then? Tianse, even.”

     “If that were the case, any accidental poorly timed relay of information would immediately alert him suspicion of you. For your sake, I hope you're alone now.”

     Kansi grumbles, “Of course, I'm not daft. Although a good point, the ‘snake’ doesn't sound suspicious?”

     “You're in the far gone past, snakes are a very common threat.”

     He grimaces. ‘She's got me there.’

     “Then why don't I just relay my reports in another language? Not like he'll understand.”

     “True, but the whole purpose of using code words is to have an easy cover. If you're caught speaking a language inconsistent with the role you're playing, it would arouse suspicion.”

     He scratches his head. “I just feel like there's gotta be something less... judgmental.”

     “What would you call him, then?”

     “Me? Mm...” He grips his chin to consider. His announcement is firm. “The Brat.”

     A third pause.

     “ ... And you think that's better?”

     “Yeah!” he assures, “Anyone can be a brat, it doesn't mean they're vicious and scheming!”

     “Well, if that's all you have to report...”

     He leans up attentively again. “Wait, I have one more question.”

     “What is it, sir?”

     His face turns a tinge more grave, as if both fervent for and dreading the answer. “Can you tell me... why does it have to be me?”

     “Don't you know that already?”

     As she nonchalantly gives the answer, “You're the one in the vision,” that hellscape appears before his eyes again.

     Suddenly he finds himself kneeled in the bushes, gagging from heaving on an empty stomach. Kansi crouches to a small stream to wash his face and cup a few drinks to clear the sour taste from his mouth, incidentally catching a glance of the morning's kill and immediately drawing his hand over his eyes as he flinches with an unpleasant groan. He smacks his fist to a tree as he unsteadily pulls himself up with it, trying to get his grip again. The earring dangles through his hair once more, the feminine voice gone.

     “Of course I know that... why WOULDN'T I know that?!”

     He leans an arm against the tree, holding his chest to ease his breaths. ‘In the two years I've been here, I've seen my own death 163 times. I know it hasn't happened yet, but every time is so visceral it churns my stomach. I never know if it's real or not until I wake up. But I'm always aware there's a chance the next time it happens, I won't. But the stupid vision doesn't explain WHY.’

     Once he's gathered himself for the third time just this morning, he scoops up a couple empty jugs with the stream water and starts hauling them back over his shoulders, bound together by rope, toward the source of the narrow smoke stream.

     ‘I don't understand this timeline shit. Me being in the vision is why I'm here, me being here is why I'm in the vision—so where did it ever begin?! It doesn't make any fucking sense! My thought is if I'm the one that's gonna die, why the hell am I out here to face my own very real death?! Is it a threat?? "You better succeed, or you know what!" The hell is a "split fate" anyway? Either something good happens or something bad happens, isn't that the same with anything else?! What's his business got to do with me, either way?? All the time I've spent on this, and I still can't get a damn straight answer. Guess that's why there's no problem putting someone like me on the line. I'm not the one running the joint.’

     He sighs and drops his head back to unleash an agonized groan to the empty air, reminiscing on the sweet temptations he's lost to time as he casts a melancholic gaze over the morning game. “Of all the things I miss from my time, I miss junk food the most.”