The future was a peculiar thing. Intangible, unreachable but not at all unpredictable. As a matter of fact, the future had never been so clearly written in the present. Perhaps painted was a more fitting word.
From his desk, the lone man stared at the paintings displayed before him.
These were the latest to join his collection.
On the left, he saw war. A war that would rage on in a thousand years' time. He saw the odd collection of allies, bloodied and bruised as they faced up against an unseen enemy.
The painting on the right was the most concerning.
The man in this painting was identical to himself. The same dark hair, the same dark eyes—the same everything. Except the look his painted self wore as he beheld the redhead beside him was entirely foreign. The man's facial muscles had never convulsed quite like that. He massaged his face now, dreading the smile lines and eye crinkles that his future promised.
In the painting, a woman he'd never seen before stared back at him with equal amour. He knew he'd never seen her. He couldn't have. He'd have remembered a woman who looked like that. With eyes as amber as molten lava and hair as red the heat surrounding, her face was burnt forever into the crevices of his mind.
This woman was to be his future.
Their future had been decided.
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Kyra
Lãng mạnKyra was made to serve a purpose. To fight in some big war and kill some big enemy. The usual. Except with too many questions and not enough answers, Kyra put her foot down. Enough was enough. Escorted to her big bad creator's office, Kyra's life sp...
