Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

27.

Content warning: violence

Gaze

I can't stop seeing it.

A battlefield–a sea of black metal on one side, an army of all seven tribes on the other.

The sky turns black, clouds rumbling overhead before lightning razes the ground, dragons dissolving to ash in the fury of its heat

The ground splits in two, the hungry abyss swallowing Sharp-eyes's soldiers just as readily as the rest of us.

An IceWing dragonet, lifting his head, screaming up at the sky.

The desert sands start to rise into a wall, stretching up as far as I can see. I hold my breath, taking Epiphany's talon in mine, and then it swallows me whole.

And then it all goes dark. And then.... there's nothing. A silence so loud it feels like a roar, a void where a world used to be.

The visions tear through me like a hurricane and leaves me sitting at my desk, breathless.

My eyes are wet with tears, my talons clenched tight enough that it should hurt, but I don't feel anything.

It's not real. It's not real, I remind myself. I run my talons over smooth black marble, focusing on the cool sensation. I grab one of the scrolls sitting on it, scrunching it up in my talons. I force myself to breathe in deep. The air smells like dust and old parchment.

It's not real.... yet.

I pace to the window, looking out at the city. From this high up, I can see everything: the new university, its black, windowless spires reaching up toward the sky; the palace, looking down over the city; the factories, belching out clouds of smoke that hang heavy over the air. The streets are so empty, it feels as though I'm the only one left here.

I force myself to breathe, as the visions start to fade like nightmares.

So much of the city has changed in the past six months. If things were like they used to be, I think it would be autumn now. In Sharp-eyes's perfectly temperature-controlled city, where day and night blend into one, the passage of days has lost meaning.

I walk back to my desk, through the rows and rows of shelves. My latest project has been organizing centuries worth of prophecies delivered to queens over the years. I don't mind it; honestly. It keeps my talons busy, keeps the visions at bay, even if the silence feels maddening some days.

At least we get a break room now. It makes me feel a little less crazy to get to socialize with dragons outside the New Star, even if only for twenty minutes a day. Some of the wings of the library have even been opened up to the public.

He's trying to pacify us, and it's working.

I can feel myself settling into the rhythms of this life; getting comfortable in its exhausting regularity. I run through talking points for tonight's New Star meeting while I work.

We can't contest what Sharp-eyes is saying about the war when we don't have proof he's lying. It'll only damage our credibility.

We need to find evidence of some more local wrongdoing, something dragons can see with their own eyes.

But I still haven't figured out what that is. Until I can, it's not a very compelling argument.

I spend hours, turning that over in my mind as I absently sort through prophecies of demise.

All these times, the world almost fell apart, and all these times it was fine, I reassure myself, knowing perfectly well this is different.

***