Kismet’s Tale

      Natalya patiently waited, reliving what she saw in that extreme foresight. Her mark has faded, bloomed, and she thought to herself that even this needed time. The last time, she could only stare at that foolish man clutching to his stomach, his time dwindling away as the wound he sustained foolishly saving her.

Natalya didn’t need saving. She knew herself better than to be some damn damsel in distress. He knew that she needed no help, and yet this man would come and help. It wasn’t about treating her like a piece of fragile ware, it was about how he would gladly offer his life if it meant that he could do good.

She hated him for that placid responsibility. She despised how he was more happy to offer his life with zero hesitation.

He was always on the ground, trying to do good with his life. He didn’t understand that ‘responsibility’ that he had. How he could always try to help no matter what? Yet without that ‘responsibility’ he was someone who could not be easily killed.

And yet in front of her, she only saw a stupid man who could not leave anyone alone. A fool who would always have to die in front of her. She didn’t understand why it is always her who has to watch him die.

For five times, she has to watch him die.

Five times she heard and saw him die.

Natalya snuck on his room and watched him sleep. If she had shown even a bit of intent, he would wake up. She had learned from the past times and her knowledge of the bloom and the mark allowed her to be as stealthy as a feline. She didn’t dare to be reckless, so she put him into extra sleep with a bloom's spell.

She sat on the bed and examined the back of his hand. There was no sign of any mark, and yet she already understood that his strength was beyond any human should have. She could just write it off as someone who possessed the blood of the Strongarm running through his veins. After all, their name alone boasts their proud lineage, the masters of arms, and destroyer of the demifiends. Though diluted, the blood of the Strongarms still runs through them.

“The Whitefalls and the Strongarms shouldn’t be allies,”  Natalya thought. “They think that Lazon is kind and unified, when in truth the Whitefalls and the Strongarms had always been at each other’s throat. I learned from my Nanny once that your ancestor clan tried to annihilate my ancestor clan,” she laughed, and then looked at the Imperator’s Mark. “The legends are true, so why should I doubt that you would possess your ancestor clan’s strength as well?

Natalya leaned in until she could hear and feel his breath. She was like a predator who was savoring her prey before the kill, but with a reluctance . “Am I going to keep seeing these foresights of the future? Relieve memories that feel so real?”

She had been repeating the same conversation, the same topics until the point where she would come back from the point where she saw where she was. This time, she was able to quiet the Nullers without being noticed. Some would call this a gift, but if her deductions were right. Something had happened during the ‘spark’ that gave her these extreme foresights of the future.

Limited by the length, and only possible until her Imperator’s Mark once again becomes fully visible. “But why do I have to keep seeing these when you die? I know something happened when that spark happened, and yet why do not possess it? Hey, why does this word keep showing my future where you die, but in the waking world you live so easily?”

Natalya wanted to steer clear of these visions. Hateful visions that seem like reality, a nightmare that she didn’t know to relieve. She was not so brainless, she deduced that one of the greatest abilities of the Imperator’s mark was this, and yet she could feel it instinctively that the  mark itself was incomplete and lacking. It was a diluted version of the mark, which she could guess within the few limits of her abilities, that it was because of how much blood had intertwined with the Whitefall Clan.

The potency of the blood was weaker, resulting in a weaker effect. She only saw visions within a limited and clear timeline. The more days she spent far from the moment she got the spark, the less she could remember.

“If I want to remember the vision clearer, I need to produce a spark.  Still, did that mean that the blood flowing through our veins had caused this? That I have no choice, but to watch you die again and again? In front of me, every last breath you take, and every last word you say?”

She leaned closer. “Why you? I don’t understand. Is it because we were together during that opportune moment? The history of our bloodline, caused this? Am I forever doomed to watch you die and die again?”

She stood up, drew her gun, and pointed on his forehead. “If I kill you now, would this mean that this is the last time that I have to see you in this vision? Hey, would you kindly die for me? Why am I stuck with you? You almost took my life, saved it, and now I’m fated to see these visions again and again? It’s not fair, why do I have to relieve those when it's you who keeps giving that life yours!”

She shouted. There was a momentary silence as she wondered if her loud voice have woken him up.

He still slept like a log, unaware that there was someone pointing a pistol on his forehead.

“It’ll run out of patience soon, and you’d think that I am finally here to deliver on my vengeance. I’m not a saint. All I wanted to do was fly, and see the skies. Why do I have to suffer this? It’s not fair. Why do I have to bear this mark?” she scratched mark, the mark didn't go away, merely appearing like a part she could never erase.

She sat back down and inclined on the headboard of the bed. She ran her fingers on Mavin’s hair, tracing from head down to his neck. She clutched his neck, and had the urge to test it out.

"Would I return to that time if you die?"

Then she sought the sanity left in her crumbling mind.

She held it tightly, like a person preventing herself to drown.

She slid down, and laid next to him, her lips next to his ears. “I know that it’s my choice to come here, and I know that you are showing a lot of patience, but this isn’t fair at all. I loathe you. I despise you. Why don’t you die at your pace? Why do you keep bothering me? Should I lock you up? Keep you in chains so that you don’t have to throw your life away? Prevent those visions ever again?”

Natalya stopped herself. It was unlike her to be like this. She knew that the visions were scaring her more than any barrage of artillery or a bullet passing through her dead. She didn’t understand why she kept seeing these extreme foresights of the future, and at the same time, she felt like she was dreaming and reliving memories that shouldn’t exist.

Which one was real? Which one was the coming future? Natalya felt afraid, and yet at the same time he was one of the few whose presence tethered her.

He would find a way without her supervision. She didn’t understand why there was such a difference when it comes to the foresight she saw and to the 'real' where he would be able to find his way.

Just as long as he doesn’t bother saving another, he would find a way to survive.

“Why are you so eager, and so unafraid of it?”

She recalled the fourth time. The moment she couldn’t properly dispose of the Nullers named Lugi and Devi. How they have brought their wrath to the city, and the call of the Nuller to war. 

Natalya saw how he had hunted the Nuller like preys without even knowing that he was around. While she struggled to kill a single one of them, he easily shot them with the same method that allows someone to crack a hole in their defenses. There was great sorrow in him, seeing the city burned, and the people that he had to kill.

Natalya couldn’t remember anything other than the expression he wore. That ugly and satisfied expression, a man who seems like all his burdens were lifted. She loathed that face so much. That smug, self-uplifted demeanor of a man who seems like he didn’t care about what happens next.

He looked almost at peace. As if what happened next didn’t matter. Who could blame him when he’s faced with death? He accepted it so easily, while he couldn’t stand the thought of letting someone he felt like he had a duty to die.

The worst part of it all was how willing it was. It was the action of a man who didn’t care about the worth of his life. That placid happiness he shows others, it felt nothing to the face he showed at the time of his death.

“Would you show the same?” she asked herself. “Would you still have that same look? Or do you truly not care, your heartless man?”

Her gaze sharpened. She stood up, climbed on his torso, and placed the barrel of her pistol once again on his forehead. This time, she didn’t care if he woke up, she pressed the weight of her body on his stomach. The spell of her ‘bloom’ finally wore off and he opened his eyes.

“Are you planning your vengeance now?”

“I am,” she said to him. “You don’t look afraid. Tell me, are you afraid to lose your life right now? Hey, hey, tell me, will you scream for me? Hey, beg for mercy, and I might make you live.”

“Are you serious?”

She pressed her pistol violently on his forehead. The tip of the barrel biting through his skin. “Come on, beg for me, swore that you’d obey me, and be a good boy.”

“Why are you doing this? Are you alright?”

“I told you to beg, bastard,” she slammed her left hand on his face. Then held his mouth with a claw grip. “Beg for forgiveness, beg for your life and wiped that face of yours.”

“I don’t understand. Did I do something?” His eyes showed no hint of change. As if this behavior was within his expression. No, the way he looked at her was different now. He looked at her with an air of clarity. ‘This is what I expected from you’ and it bothered.

With the pistol still pointed at his face, she struck his free hand like hammer blows on his face, like a child with a tantrum, demanding him to change the way he looked at her.

“Beg now!”

“I don’t know what’s happening, but if this is your way of expressing your anger, then I understand.”

“Shut up.”

He nodded. He stared at her dully. There was a look of resignation on his face. His shoulders were loose and he stared at the ceiling.  She felt tired looking at that loathsome face.

Natalya didn’t know why she couldn’t contain herself. The back of her hand itched madly as she felt that Imperator’s Mark urging. She saw many flashes and there was an unbearable pain in her head.

“Are you okay?”

She glared. “Shut up!”

She broke his nose with the butt of his pistol. A depraved smile plastering her face.

“Hey, will you forgive me for this?

“I...don’t know what to think. I was sure that you’d at least think of me less than someone you’d want to kill. But it seems that I was wrong. I am used to seeing through to people that I became unable to look past through the veil. I was glad that there was someone not following my expectations, and it looks like I was wrong again.”

“Fight back.”

There was no change in his demeanor. A person shouldn’t look relieved at the face of death. 

“You’re a goddamn fool.”

She pulled the trigger of her pistol. His head caved in, his blood splattered, and yet his stare haunted her.

That undaunted glare at the face of death. 

“And I am as well,” she muttered, throwing the gun away.

Then she saw the spark.

Her face twisted and she held her chest as if maddened and haunted by pain.

She looked at him for a moment and smiled sweetly.

“Haha...haha...I was right...you really are my tether,” she pressed a kiss on his bloodied lips. “See you later, Mavin Tomas. I'll free us from this. So...forgive me for now, eh?”

She pressed her body on him, watching the spark coming out of the back of her hand attached itself to his hand. 

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“Six times, Mavin Tomas. Six times,” she said, leaving Mavin confused again.

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