Xirysa Says: Oh, I haven't written something like this in forever, it seems. Enjoy!
Among the Ashes We Stand
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She dreams one night, of anger and hate and of a raging fire that consumes everything in its path. It dances and moves, and within the flame she sees the faces of companions as they silently scream their fate to the heavens above.
She sees their faces as she dreams, and she knows of the grief to come.
There is sweet Florina, pale and sweaty with fever. Lord Hector sits by her side, and worry and anxiety lines his face and makes him seem far older.
Humble Brother Lucius burns until he is unrecognizable, his muffled cries of pain mingling with those of the children—oh, the children!—who were unable to escape the flames that engulfed the only home they had ever known.
Noble Lyndis of Sacae clutches at her empty stomach as drought takes over the land of her people. Beside her is her redheaded knight, holding the body of a babe whose eyes are closed in an endless sleep.
Sain falls to the ground, a lance through his heart, his body spasming until he is finally still. His horse screams in pain and fear as arrow after arrow embed themselves in its neck. Soon, it lies still and cold beside its rider as its blood stains the earth beneath it.
Mark slips away into the darkness taking over the land, never to be seen by mortal eyes again.
Quiet Priscilla roams the halls of Caerleon alone, an old woman who is the husk of the girl she once was.
Serra remains her ever ostentatious self even as she watches her husband being cut down in front of her eyes, but it is obvious that she, too, is breaking.
She watches as a small boy with a noble face grows into a madman with a lust for control.
A babe is impaled on a sword, bloody guts spilling from the wound and onto the earth as its mother is passed around from soldier to soldier like a flagon of ale.
She hears the shrieks of women and children as their homes are destroyed, as they are cut to ribbons and burned to crisps. Men choke on blood, blood, so much blood, as they are ripped to shreds by steel and magic and the claws and fangs of Bern's wyverns.
The endless plains, the land of Hanon, are covered by the shadows of the wyverns of Bern; Ilia follows, the snow stained red with the blood of its people.
Thieves and brigands wait at the edges of these skirmishes like vultures, waiting for the fighting to end so they may partake in the spoils of war.
Countless others fall prey to the chaos in the fire, lost forever to fire and brimstone.
She watches as her own belly grows round with child, as she gives birth to a son with the flaming hair of his father, as the flow of the birth blood from her body refuses to stopped. She sees herself fade away after an illness leaves her bedridden for weeks, leaving behind a grieving husband and child and a kingdom that mourns her passing.
But at the edge of the flame, something else catches her attention: a boy who is not quite yet a man—her child!—born from the union of dragon and man, fighting for a future without pain, without hate. A future of hope and trust, born from the ashes of a world torn by war.
The image is sudden, fleeting. She rubs her eyes to make sure that it is not an illusion.
Then she blinks.
And everything turns to ash.
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Xirysa Says: Oh, dang. Yeah, I'm back to writing depressing things. Hell yes. So premonitions are epic win, I think. And we already know that Ninian and Nils both have abilities of sensing danger and stuff, but... Whatever. Overall, I'm happy with how this came out. But feedback is still awesome, you know. Thanks for reading!