The legends said that a child will be born who has the ability to conjure prophesies of the future. You were that child, a child born with a magical gift… but a curse.

Now you were older. You were worshipped by your townspeople, and people from far and wide would come to meet you and to gain knowledge from your prophesies. Everyone viewed you as a god. You seemed to have the perfect life, or at least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.

You experienced excruciating headaches and seizures. You wished to be treated like a human, but no one ever did so. You felt lonely on top where people bowed down and worshipped you. The people treated you like an object to protect than an actual human.

That is, everyone but Haruza. He was one of many soldiers employed to protect you, but he was the only one who listened and sympathized you.

It was a beautiful night when you stepped out of your room and onto the balcony. You had the most amazing view. It was almost subconscious as you pulled yourself up and dangled your feet. The ground was low enough that you could get down unscathed. You thought about escaping this nightmarish life. It was then when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“My prophet, please, come down.” Haruza said in a calm, yet concerned voice.