Vol 1: Silaerial 1
Light glazes gracefully across the still surface of the puddle. It dances with shadows and transforms into rainbows. The rainbows fragment into separate colours, which twist and wriggle apart to form pictures.
Pictures of the present.
Pictures of the future.
But, more often than not, pictures of the past.
The pictures are not static - they reveal a segment of time in motion. They dart around the water, and crash together, breaking themselves apart into colours, to be born into pictures anew.
The pictures appear according to rigid laws and structure. They dance with endless chaos. What is, what was, what could possibly come to be, all form a maelstrom of madness that can drive a genius to insanity and beyond.
It has happened before, and it certainly will again - but not to me. Not yet, anyway.
A sudden vicious headache starts gnawing behind my eyes, and I know I've over done my practice again. I blink, twice, thrice, and the water before me is no longer a window on the streams of time. It's just ordinary, plain water once more - not that it was ever anything else. I just use the reflected light as a catalyst to make my Seeing easier.
If I was stronger I wouldn't need this crutch to use my power. But then, 'if wishes were fishes, we'd all have a full catch'. A human I saw said these words of wisdom, and they struck me as worth keeping in mind.
I sit back and curl my tail slowly, thinking about what I've seen. Most of it is useless - just images of empty clouds or distant mountains. Some of it is predicting the weather - we're going to have rain for no less than 10 days and no more than 25. I wish I could be more certain about it, but no one can ever be certain about the weather.
I saw a segment of the past - my father screwing one of the females in the flight. I hate seeing him in person, I don't enjoy Seeing his escapades as well. It's particularly horrid because that red and orange female has a mate. This isn't the first time my father has been 'sowing wild oats' - I'm pretty sure at least three quarters of the dragons in my generation are my half siblings.
I really wish one of the Betas would kill and replace the bastard, but currently he's the only Alpha in the flight. Which means everyone is subservient to him. It's an instinctive reaction for them to obey. I am never going to obey him, though. It doesn't matter how many scars he gives me, or how many of my bones he breaks. I will settle these debts with him, once I have the strength to make him pay.
The final scene I watched was a human funeral. A mother and her six children were laying a man on a pyre, and watching in tears as it burned. One of the children is familiar to me - I See him at least twice each month. His name is Donovan, and we were born on exactly the same day, at the same time. We are eleven years old, and neither of our lives have been easy.
His father is a Dragon Trapper. Ironic, yes? The boy I keep Seeing is the son of a man who makes a living by hunting down my people, and enslaving them. Humans have a huge industry around dragons - Trappers and Tamers, Riders and Trainers. They chain us at their city gates like extra large guard dogs. They make us transport cargo, and battle to the death for sport and betting.
They restrain our magic and drive us insane, until all we know is how to obey. The only thing they haven't managed to do is breed us - no dragon will ever allow their children to be born as slaves. To do so would just be a death sentence.
Since Donovan's father has died, his life is going to get much harder. He's second eldest of six children, and all the others are girls. More likely than not, he'll apprentice to trapper to start earning money to support his family.
Although we are destined to be at odds, I wish you well, Donovan. I hope your life runs a bit more smoothly.
I check again, and confirm - I didn't See anything else worthy of note. So I get up, stretch cautiously, and limp my way back to the enclosed amphitheater the flight calls home.