The Cursed Mother

Two

Achilles enjoys the Hidden City, her son enjoys having a solid place to work on his practical and magical healing abilities.

A common name among those who did not know him, and among the Dragons, is 'Doctor', same as they call her 'Prophet'. The townsfolk prefer family names to given names, but she long left her family name behind— so 'Prophet' and 'Doctor' they have come to be.

Speaking of the dragons...

"Enjoying the city life, Prophet?" The voice beside her rumbles somewhere above her, and she huffs, "How unexpected."

"Silence, you overgrown gecko." She snaps from where she kneels, pestle and mordor resting in her lap, "Else I may leave you like this."

"Healers take an oath to do no harm."

"Bah! I did you no harm, it was your own foolishness, and I took no such oath."

"Mother, please."

Casandera clicks her tongue at the sound of her son's voice, Achilles. The boy had turned thirteen this year, his magical training coming along splendidly as he assists with her old friend.

She hmps, "You're safe this time, Acnologia. My boy seems to find you too awe-inspiring to leave wounded, no matter how minor."

"Mother!" Her son's voice is scandalized, and she laughs.

Another effect of living amongst humans, she has grown more vocal. Full of tough-love and sarcasm, she'd heard someone say.

Her old friend laughs as well, rumbling the ground around them. Even without seeing him, she knows he's smiling.

Hmph, smug gecko.

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"Really, child, I can find my way."

"Mother, they gave us the temple at the top of a massive, winding staircase." Her son's voice is flat and unamused as he holds gently on her arm, "No matter how good your magic is, I refuse to let you travere them by yourself."

Casandera hums.

"I suppose I've raised you too well." She says, as she hears the large doors to their home open, "What other plans do you have for today, Achilles?"

She hears her son hum.

"I have no plans for today," he tells her, "why?"

"Good," she says, walking further into the main room to kneel on one of her rugs, feeling the softness beneath her feet, "Then you will be joining me in meditation."

He does not argue, her dear Achilles, instead following after her and kneeling across from her.

"Any reason you wish me to join you?"

She does not usually have him join her unless he wishes.

"A feeling, my child. I am going to attempt to summon a vision. I would like to have you here as well. Come, give me your hands."

He settles his fingers over her own calloused ones, and she squeezes comfortingly. She takes a breath, and shuts her eyes.

The visions she's been having lately have been small, inconsequential things when Visitors ask for one. Rarely has she tried to summon a vision such as this.

The world around her fades as her outreaching magic recoils into herself, as the warmth and feel of the world around her fades— as shapes take form behind her eyelids.

Large creatures, most with wings. Ashen remnants of cities and piles of burning corpses. Teeth tearing at human sacrifices as cities try to earn favor from the mindless beasts.

Fire and storms ravage the lands, children pulled from the rubble and trained to fight and to kill.

A ruler, the one to end the battle, with the most blood on his claws. Massive, black and blue with a roar that pierces the sky.

Blood and death and fire—

"—other!"

Casandera jerks back to herself, finding Achilles had let go of her hands and now rested his palms on her cheeks.

"Mother, are you alright?!" He sounds panicked.

She reaches up and holds his hands tightly, breathing deeply.

"I'm alright, Achilles," She tells him gently, no need for her son to worry, "Don't worry about this old woman and her prophecies."

He breathes raggedly, suddenly sagging against her. As his head presses into her stomach, she wraps her arms around his back in a mothers comfort.

"I worry because this one seemed bad." He mutters against her clothes, the words slightly muffled, "Your eyes were so wide, and you looked so afraid..."

...Casandera has lived through many things in her long life. Things her visions have warned her of.

However, she has never faced anything like what her vision had just shown her. She should tell someone...

But that would only cause panic. If the dragons were to fight then no one would be safe. If the humans were to turn on the dragons then it would only bring about death faster.

Such troubles do not plague those who are not Cursed.

She sends mental threats upon the spirits of her ancestors for this.

But she cannot be upset. Without her Curse, she'd have died millions of years ago.

Without her Curse, she'd never have found her son, her Achilles.

Running a hand through his hair, with two small braids lining his face, she sighs.

The dilemma of those Cursed to See.

She pats her child's shoulder, running a hand through his hair once again, speaking quietly.

"It is late," she had felt the warmth of the sun be replaced by the cool winds of night as they were walking up the steps, "It's time for young children to sleep."

"I'm not a child." Is the answering grumble, even as the boy lifts himself from her lap.

She snorts.

"No matter how old you get, you'll always be my child." She says. "Always be centuries younger than I."

She reaches out her hand, and he passes her staff to her, she stands.

Together, the two of them walk down the hidden hall to their bedrooms.

Later, as she watches her child asleep through the open doorway, she remains silent.

Yes.

This vision...there was no telling when it would happen.

She could only hope it wouldn't be for a few more years.