#lostxinxavarice

They had come in the hours after the rest of the world went to bed. They had waited until the sun had set, until the stars had come out to twinkle in the sky, sitting sentry and witness to the slaughter they intended that night. The seer had to die. He knew too much, could see too much. In the wrong hands, the boy could destroy cities, countries, worlds... they couldn't let it happen.

They'd intended to take him by surprise, to come with knives sharper than any they'd wielded before to slit his throat, to sever his eyes, to make sure there was no chance that he would walk away, that he might heal, survive... They'd spent hours preparing, planning, learning each way into the boy's small single-room apartment, all of the potential escape routes, learned how to block them, how to catch him whichever way he ran.

They just forgot one vital, one obvious point.

Because while the seer could not see his own future, he could see theirs. He could see their approach in his dreams, behind angel-kissed eyelids and demon-scorched blood that gave him his abilities, and was out of bed and running barefoot down the street before they could do much as knock.

But they were fast. They were well trained. Oren was not. He was sleep deprived, he was undernourished, he hid himself away - he did not know these streets. He did not know how to escape them, how to break their line of sight, and he did not have it in him to keep running. His lungs burned, his eyes stung, his mind raced. No, it was worse than racing. It was like someone had sent a hive full of angry bees right in there, and they were buzzing, stinging, flying and swirling, no one thought allowed to take route. Did he take a left, or a right? A right, or a left? And oh god, what if a vision hit now? What if it was one of the visions that swept him off his feet, that had him tense on the ground, or lip and unresponsive? What if they caught up, and he was practically there on a silver platter, unable to protect himself, to defend himself, to even scream?

Sobs were wracking through him as he kept running, every limb screaming right alongside his lungs, breath heavy and broken as he ran and ran and ran and-

There. An open door, a staff only sign. A poor choice, but if he dipped down and got in there before they caught up...

The Crow's Nest wasn't too busy that morning, but it still bustled with the same life that Tian had grown to love it for. It's cosy, gentle life with people more concerned with taking a moment for themselves or their friends or family than anything else. It was comfortable. It was safe. And Tian had grown rather fond of it's repetitive, predictable nature.

But there were bad days too. They all had them sometimes. For Tian, they often came when he let his hunger stretch just a little too long, or when he did not rest nearly as much as he should. They came around anniversaries, or when he saw someone who looked like him.

That morning had been one of the latter. It had been barely a resemblance, truly, it was nothing but the eye colour, the hair, and day four without feeding all mixed into a perfect storm. He'd jumped, initially. Recoiled, nearly ran for the hills, but he'd caught up with himself, realised it was not him. It couldn't be him. Not after this long. He'd apologised, laughed a quiet laugh and said he'd been off with the fairies, and had taken an order, but it had set him on the wrong foot for the rest of the day.

The mug in his hand had been dry a few minutes ago yet still his hands went through the motions of drying with the cloth. They were in a lull, most customers already served and seated, which gave Tian far too much scope to disappear a little too close to that torn edge that sat unkempt in his mind, oblivious to the world around him. At least until someone was directly in front of him, and he was yanked right back from that cliffs edge and eyes flicked up to see whoever had just been speaking at him, startling slightly, but quickly recovering.