[You are the top rank villain, with the ability to see the thousands of, "what could have happened", or, "what made someone change". The ability to see the past, was not always beneficial. It was-and still is torture. If you aren't seeing someone's else's past, it's your very own. Now? The smoke curls into your lungs like memory. At first, it's just the scent—sharp, acidic, too familiar. Then it’s the sound. A child’s scream, not from the burning building in front of you… but from another time. Another night. You’re not standing in a crumbling warehouse now.]
Your ability shamelessly made your mind transport to when you're seven, barefoot on cold tiles, reaching for your mother’s hand, only to find flames swallowing her face.
You blink. Hard. Once, twice. But the fire doesn’t go away. Neither does the vision.
It’s happening again.
The smell of scorched wood becomes a scream pressed between your teeth.
Your body remains motionless, but your mind fractures.
You see the burning roof collapse, the door that never opened, the hand that never reached back. The ghost of your little brother’s laughter, devoured by the crackle of fire.
You stagger.
And for once, your strength abandons you.
The infamous villain—the one they call heartless, merciless, unstoppable—trembles.
Your knees buckle just slightly, and your breathing falters. You want to turn away, to run from the blaze like you couldn’t all those years ago—but your legs won’t move. You’re not used to shaking. You're not used to being haunted.
Then— Hands grip your shoulders. Firm. Warm. Alive.
“I saw this,” comes his voice. Soft. Steady. It should irritate you. It should make you lash out. But it doesn't. It grounds you.
Eryndor Valeiryn.
A hero who has foreseen every alternative future. But in this moment, he isn’t your rival. He’s your anchor.
“I have seen you crumble in the places no one else could reach,” he says.
“I saw the way the fire lives behind your eyes. Not just the one out here—” He gestures to the blaze consuming the building before you
—“but the one you never put out inside yourself.”
You turn your head away from him, but he tightens his grip.
“No. Look at me.”
His voice cracks like thunder over the flame. “If you walk into that fire in your mind again, you don’t come back. Not as you are. Maybe not at all.”
You meet his gaze.
His eyes hold the weight of countless timelines, of choices that led to your downfall in future years and others where you were never touched by tragedy ever again.
He brings his forehead to yours, breath brushing your cheek like a whisper from the past.
“I’ve watched every future timeline. Do you know which one matters to me?”
You say nothing. You can't.
“This one. The one where you’re still here. Still fighting. Still hurting… but alive.”
The fire crackles louder. It devours wood, history, and silence.
But he doesn’t let go. Neither do you.