Ferenc Szemere's mind drifted away, leaving all the bustling noises of the city behind, reaching a place beyond the Veil where dreams and reality converged, sending ripples through time. His mind was never at peace, even though he thought he had long accepted the turmoil inside his troubled head. He was wrong. His personal hell never left his side.
Ferenc relived his own mistakes repeatedly. For a time-master 'finality' had no meaning. His very nature played cruel tricks on him, and he could do nothing but open his eyes and watch events of his life unfold in his mind. He knew the outcomes, he accepted the choices, he acknowledged their consequences. But despite all that, despite his own limitless vision, he still struggled as if something in that world depended on him. As if he could change something.
How old was he when his parents left? Twelve, perhaps eleven. He remembered watching them talk to each other, casting occasional worried glances at him, lowering their voices to whispers. They were in Budapest, in the botanical gardens, enjoying a long walk among twisted trees and blooming flowers. Somewhere far away a war was raging on, but Ferenc vaguely understood the nature of the conflict. He remembered the waters of a small pond reflecting his mother's serious face, framed by a halo of lotuses. He had been trying to reconstruct the details of that day for years, yet his mother's expression never came out right. Something was off: her eyes seemed glazed, the tilt of her head looked forced, the muscles of her forehead flexed unnaturally. Why did it feel real then?
She approached Ferenc with silent steps and smiled, her cold hand brushed his long wavy hair.
"We need to leave, Fero," she said, her voice trembling. "Vajk Kolosy expects us to follow him. We need to help our kin."
Ferenc knew what she would say, but he could not accept her words.
"I see you die. That is all I see..." His voice trailed off – too low for a teenager and too raspy for an adult.
"We can only glimpse extracts from our futures, Fero. We can never be sure how many possible detours and twists those glimpses reveal." She sighed, allowing her elegant lips to break into a sad smile. "I don't know how fate and time operate. And neither does your father."
"Then how can you rely on something as uncertain as time?"
His question remained unanswered. He was convinced that he saw further than his parents did. But he was wrong. His mother's logic was impeccable.
"If we are expelled from the Veil, we will die," she said, "Even your turul knows that, and does not venture outside the Pannon Basin. We need to defend our lives, Fero."
Ferenc shook his head.
"There must be other ways... There must be other possibilities!"
"Ilona," his father called out to her. "We need to leave." She looked back, the soft lines of her face suddenly hardening, a new cruel vigor sneaking into her gaze.
"Give me a second, Andor."
Ferenc's father sighed deeply.
"We both know what Kosar did to our people in Zagreb," he murmured. Ferenc sought his gaze in vain. His father refused to look him in the eye. "We are next. If we do not go, we are as good as dead."
"We will get through this." Ilona kissed Ferenc's hands, squeezed out a comforting smile and left. They hated long good-byes, and Ferenc forgave them. He did not cry, only watched them depart, helplessly balling his fists, slicing his palms with his nails.
His parents never returned. Later, he heard that light-benders blinded and killed them, but the information mattered little by the time it reached him. He could not change anything. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he could have stopped them. But he never had enough decisiveness, enough power or enough madness to do so.
YOU ARE READING
Byzantine Purple
Fantasía"History is a survivor's tale. It knows no villains. Only failures." A decade ago, Leudora had her major enemies eliminated - the scientist known as the Dalmatian Serpent, and his followers, who sought her people's blood. A ruthless guardian of her...
