𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚎

Sage could not have Predicted her Premonition, or her Migraine|| 10.

Bleak darkness crept it's way through Sage's sight, until she could see nothing but ebony. The inky shroud infiltrated her vision like it did when she got a premonition, but something was off. There were no images, no flashes of the future, only menacing blackness like a shadow.

Sage's body was weightless, like she was suspended above a chasm. Normally when she got premonitions it was like her consciousness was the only thing moved. Her arms and legs didn't exist in those moments, nor did anything besides her mind. Now though, a shiver shot up her spine and she could feel her fingers flex when she moved them.

"Free me," Sage stiffened as a voice sounded from somewhere in the darkness. It stretched across everything, as if it were coming from everywhere. Or perhaps like it was coming from nowhere.

"Free me," it repeated. The voice sounded as feeble as shattering glass. An old woman's rasp, burdened by exhaustion and wavering. The noise was akin to something precious being broken. As if it was once mighty and powerful, but had been reduced to a strained hiss. Hearing the sharp, yet ragged sound made Sage want to clear her own throat.

Every piece of her wanted to run, to scream, to try and leave. Yet she couldn't move her limbs. She was frozen, as if tethered to some unnatural force. Sage was powerless.

The thought made her skin crawl. Her heart was pounding so hard, one would think she was plummeting to her death. She glanced around frantically, her vision limited to where her eyes could reach without moving her neck. There was nothing. No sign of movement, no flashes of light... just dim space.

"Demi-god you must free me, unless you wish for a bloody fate," the voice continued hastily. Sage thought this is how someone would talk if they were running out of time. Sage wanted to ask what they were talking about, but her lips were practically glued together.

One thing was sure, Sage did not like the sound of a bloody fate. "Daughter of fortune... let me illuminate what will happen if you don't free me," it said slickly.

Her sights shifted quickly, morphing into chaos. The first image blared brightly, a showing of calamitous fires. Smoke engulfing the camp, until there was nothing besides blazing sparks of scarlet and orange surrounding rubble. She could only watch, powerless as she was to the confines of darkness around her.

Rapidly the next picture appeared, merging into a city. These creatures like giants clamored past the building, crushing cars and people alike. Hideous beasts... they moved with victory engrained on their faces. Smiles of satisfaction pulled their lips, as they watched those who dared defy them.

The last images she saw fired off before she could ever understand them. Eight flashes of bodies buried beneath rubble, or bleeding from the chest, or some other horrific display of wounds.

The first person showcased in the morbid slideshow was a young girl Sage had never seen. Her dark skin was caked in ash, and blood dribbling from her lips. Her curly hair was flattened beneath a large piece of debris, and her eyes were cracked over. Just enough so that Sage could see the golden hue they appeared to be.

The next was Leo, which made Sage want to scream. His body was limp, buried beneath piles of wood and metal. His face was bloody, and filled with sorrow even in death. There was no phantom smile clinging to his lips like usual, just a pale frown.

Then it was Annabeth. Her tan skin was drained of pigment, and a sword pierced through her chest. Her fingers clutched the blade, drawn with blood on the sharp edges. Her fierce features were battered, her grey eyes closed like she'd braces for an impact.

A boy was next. Another person Sage had never seen. His hair was a mop of darkness, clinging to his forehead in sweat. His sea-green eyes were open lazily, reminding Sage of the first moments of waking up. Accept he was unmoving. There were burn marks across his face, more akin to electricity than flame. In his hand was a ballpoint pen.