A dark figure crouched on the rooftop, barely discernible against the evening sky. After a moment's pause, the figure moved rapidly to the far wall, lingering in the shadows for several minutes beside one of the darkened windows. With a final glance about the area, the man slowlyd the window, paused a moment, then crawled into the room beyond. Soon after, the window closed behind him and he disappeared from view.

Maya returned to her surroundings with a gasp. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, too disoriented to fight the panic that always accompanied her spells. The giggles of her classmates reminded her of her location, and she flushed with embarrassment. As the teacher looked on with concern, she excused herself and escaped to the safety of the restroom.

Splashing cold water on her face, she fought the twisting of her stomach, willing her heart to slow and the nausea to pass. Finally, she forced herself to look in the mirror, hoping to find her fears unfounded. Tears welled as she stared into the eyes of a stranger, eyes that glinted gold where hers were green, flickering once before fading away. Sinking against the nearest wall, she curled her arms about herself and sobbed. Just as she shaking began to subside, she felt the room start to spin. Lights danced before her eyes for a moment, then the universe folded and the room was gone.

"They've started again."

Doctor Machate looked up, clearly startled. "The flashes?"

"Yeah, a couple of days ago. Right in the middle of class."

"That must have been hard. How was your reaction this time? Did the exercises from before help at all?"

Maya shook her head. "It all happened too unexpectedly. One second we were talking about barbarian invasions, and the next thing you know, there I am."

His eyebrows arched in interest. "So you went back to the same place you saw before? Tell me about it."

"Well, no, not quite the same. I mean, it didn't really look familiar, but I knew that it wasn't completely different either." Her teeth caught her lip as she struggled for words. "Okay, you know in a dream when someone doesn't necessarily look like themselves, but they are anyway? It was kind of like that, except that the time wasn't right."

"The time? What do you mean, the time of day?"

"No, more than that. Like, instead of being a different place than my last flash, it was a different time. It was the same place, generally speaking, only later. You know, years later."

"And you felt all of this?"

"Yeah, just one of those things that I knew, like it was part of the background that I'd already heard, or seen, or something. Like when you talk about your family and you don't have to ask all the basic questions, 'cause you already know whose kids all of your cousins are, but a stranger wouldn't have any idea what you're talking about, because it just wouldn't make sense if you didn't know." She shrugged and grinned at his amused expression. "Well, you know..."

He nodded in agreement and consulted his notes. "And this was like the flashes before? The same feeling, and everything?"

"Exactly the same, except that they came faster."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, each flash started the normal way. God, I can't believe I use 'normal' to describe them! But it was normal, for what it was. The first flash was on the short side, only about a minute. I left class and went to the bathroom to calm down. But I'd only been there for a few minutes when the next flash came. That's what was so strange. They've never happened so close together before. I didn't even see the second one coming, so I wasn't any more prepared for it than I was for the first!"

She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm just a little upset. It's just, if it had happened that afternoon, or the next morning, I wouldn't have been so surprised. I could get used to that again, if I had too. I did before, you know? But now it's like I spend every minute waiting for it to happen again, worrying about when it might. Where I'll be, what I'll be doing, whether or not I'll be doing something potentially dangerous, or be right in the middle of something important. But I can't plan around them like I used to, because they're not predictable anymore..." She trailed off, fighting tears.

Dr. Machate touched her hand in sympathy. "Okay, let's come at this slowly. Did the next one come at a strange time as well, or was it more or less on schedule?"

"Oh, um, on schedule, I guess." She sniffed and scrubbed a hand across her eyes. "But I've only had the three now, so I don't know if there's a pattern yet or not."

"What about the first two, were they the same, or different?"

She looked at him in confusion.

"In content. Were they the same vision?"

"Oh. Uh, not quite the same, but they were definitely connected. I mean, they happened close together, not just for me, but for the people in them too."

"So, you just missed part of what happened in the middle, is that right?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Like I changed the channel or something, then came back to it later."

The doctor smiled. "Interesting analogy. But accurate, I think. Perhaps that's exactly what happened. Perhaps, for some reason, the first flash ended sooner than it should have, and the second one was really just finishing up. A continuation, rather than a separate event. So maybe the pattern hasn't really changed, it just took a false start before it got back into the swing of things."

Maya grinned. "So maybe I should just wait a while before I decide to panic, huh?"

"Yeah," he grinned back. "Maybe."

Taking a deep breath, Maya bent again over the notebook and shook her head. After a week of deliberation, she had finally made up her mind to submit a journal for the time capsule, but she still couldn't seem to start writing. It just seemed so arrogant to assume that her visions were actually prophetic. No matter how many times she told herself that it was ridiculous, however, she just couldn't shake the conviction that what she'd seen was not merely a fantasy, but a sliver of some future reality, no matter how alien it might seem. With a final sigh of resignation, she rolled her eyes and started writing, feeling less and less foolish with every word.

I write this in hopes that not all of our histories will be lost in the fires. I have no way of knowing if my visions are real, but though none of these events have yet come to pass, I can do no more than trust my sight to once again show me truth, as it has so many times in the past. I only wish that I had more time, time to record all that I know, and all that I may someday learn. Lacking that, I will begin with that which will already have happened by the time this is found, and continue on if time permits.

In the sixth generation after we first reached the stars, the world as we know it will come to an end. Years of empty threats and broken promises will give way to a great war, unleashing weapons of terrible destruction on a fragile world. Those of us blessed, and cursed, with the Sight will gather our families and communities together in the remotest areas, as far as possible from the huge cities that stand as targets for the raining bombs. For years, humanity will remain safely underground, waiting for the danger to pass. Emerging finally into a now-unfamiliar world, we will find that we were woefully unprepared for such an occurrence. What little time we had was spent constructing our safeholds, there was little chance for gathering knowledge. Even those books we did save will be of little use to us. No-one had ever thought to explain the lowest levels of functioning, always assuming that parts would be purchased, rather than made. We will emerge to find that even those of us who had predicted this calamity were completely unprepared for the reality of the aftermath. So much will be lost over the years, so many secrets of technology and industry, that we will be forced to start again at the beginning...

Maya wrote steadily for most of the class period, pausing only periodically to flex her hand. In as much detail as possible, she described the feudal society that eventually arose out of the rubble of the war, the return to an almost medieval civilization, where house affiliations were all important, and unforgiving lords ruled mercilessly over their people. She wrote of the despair of the lower classes, languishing powerlessly under tyrants. Finally, she wrote of the coming of an order of warriors, dedicated to enforcing a higher law, and protecting the weak from persecution.

Most were descendants of the early psychics, those who had first foretold the war. The ability to see future events had long-since disappeared, with only vestiges of such talents remaining. Every so often, a child would be born with a greater gift, telepathic or empathic abilities. These children were hidden away from the watchful eye of the ruling houses, raised to believe in a greater good, and taught to value duty, honor, and justice above all else. In time, they grew in strength, numbers, and might to the point that they were able to challenge the armies of the ruling class, forcing the local lords to adhere to their code of justice...

Most of her previous visions had been about the establishment of the carillon, and she found herself writing page after page of detailed history, recounting many of the early skirmishes and political battles, and the later recruitment and training camps. Before she knew it, class had ended, and the time had come to turn in her assignment. Capping her pen, she closed the journal with a sigh. As the other students began to file out, she took her time gathering her belongings, not quite willing to relinquish possession just yet. Finally, she forced herself to pick up the journal. Without warning, her surroundings disappeared, and she found herself once again in another time and place.

The girl turned around and smiled. With a teasing wink, she stretched out her hand and nodded, joy and love suffusing her face. Grinning broadly, the man swept her into a fierce hug and swung her around. After a moment, he set her down and turned serious. "So, what are we going to name him?"

"That's a good question. I think we should name her Maya."

Arching his eyebrow with a laugh, he cocked his head in concession. "Sounds like a good name. Any particular reason?"

She graced him with a secretive smile. "Let's just say it's my way of repaying a very old debt."

He looked at her in question, but she shook her head. "I'll tell you about it, belais, but not today. It's a story for another time."

Pulling her close again, he shrugged. "Very well. Maya it is."

She snuggled into him and sighed. "Yes. Maya."

"Maya." The voice echoed as if from a distance. "Maya?"

A hand on her shoulder brought her back with a start. Her teacher looked down at her with obvious concern. "Maya, are you all right?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course." She offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking."

Relief was clear in the teacher's voice. "Well, I'm certainly glad to hear it. I was beginning to wonder, considering that class has already ended. Is that your submission?"

Looking down at the journal in her hand, Maya nodded. She knew she should hand it in, but her mind balked at the idea. "I'm sorry, I think I need to add something. Could I have just a minute?"

With a sympathetic smile, the teacher nodded. "All right, but just one. I need to get going myself."

As the teacher returned to the front of the room, Maya hurriedly added a few more lines, hoping that it would be enough.

There will come a time when the future of the carillon becomes unclear, and the order falters in its purpose. In this time of need, a girl will come to lead the carillon into a new age. Though young, she will hold the future of an entire civilization in her hands. She will be called Davi, and, at seventeen, she shall rule beside her husband, the leader of the carillon...

Petran paused on the roof. The most dangerous part of his journey lay ahead. Looking once more over the darkening courtyard, he searched the shadows to be sure they were empty, then quickly crossed the forty feet of exposed rooftop to flatten himself by the unlit window. Closing his eyes, he reached his mind into the room within. Lucky for him, she was already asleep. The previous evening he'd spent two hours hiding under her window before it was safe to enter.

He eased the windowas quietly as possible. Holding his breath, Petran listened for a moment to be sure she still slept before silently climbing inside. He closed the window just as quietly and took up his customary post against the wall. As he kept his ears tuned for any sounds from the roof outside, his thoughts turned, as often before, to the girl who slept so peacefully unaware not fifteen feet from him.

He knew very little of her past, only that she was discovered early and showed ability far greater than most untrained carillon at her age. Though she remained in many ways a mystery, he was painfully aware of her importance to the carillon; her position in the social order. Which was exactly what brought him nightly to his vigil at her bedside. She was much too important for anything to be left to chance. He considered it his duty to protect her from harm, whether that threat came from enemies of the carillon or from within the carillon itself. After all, as second in command, security matters were his responsibility, even if it meant defying his own commander.

Stirring on the other side of the room snapped him from his reverie. He held his breath for what seemed an eternity, but there was no further movement from the bed. Once he was certain she hadn't awakened, he returned to his solitary musings. As always, he was disturbed by the course his thoughts were taking. He had no proof to back up his suspicions, and at this point he couldn't help doubting his objectivity. In the beginning, he'd had no such doubts. At first, his nightwatch was little more than a precaution, a response to mild uneasiness about her safety. Now, he was getting too close to trust his judgment. She wasn't just a duty anymore. At some point, she'd stopped being important as the future of the carillon, and instead started to just be important -- to him.

He groaned inwardly at his predicament. For weeks now he'd stood watch at her bedside, trying to block his empathic perceptions. He'd been successful for almost a fortnight, but then exhaustion started getting the better of him. He found it more and more difficult to control his thoughts, both at night as her unofficial guard and during the day as her appointed companion. The more time he spent in her company, the more attuned he became to her feelings, and the harder it became to block them o ut. Until finally, he was no longer able to pinpoint where she ended and he began. In just a few short weeks, his entire existence had been turned upside down. He, Petran, Second-in-Command of the carillon, known for his honor and sense of duty above all else, had fallen in love with another man's intended.

It was the greatest of ironies. The man everyone claimed to be above such trivial emotions had become the most pathetic, falling in love with a woman completely out of reach. Who was he to stand in the way of destiny? Regardless of his love for her, and regardless of his suspicions about his superior, there was no arguing with fate. And hers lay with Tierval. After all, she was Davi, The One of Whom the Prophet Wrote, and it was her destiny to wed the leader of the carillon.

Shaking his head, Petran cursed himself for a fool. Much as he tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere, they invariably returned to her. He thanked Lirion that this would be his last night as her guardian, that today had been his last as her companion. He could feel his gut clenching at the prospect, yet he welcomed the chance to escape this charade. More than anything, he looked forward to losing himself in sleep and training.

For too long now he'd been surviving on only three hours rest a day, retiring just after breakfast each morning. Fortunately, Davi insisted on continuing her morning trainings, so his presence was not needed until midmeal. In the afternoons, she liked to wander, exploring the woods surrounding the keep. As they walked, she asked question after question, anxious to learn about her people and the duties she would assume as their commander's bride. At first, he'd answered as briefly as possible, as had been his custom since joining the carillon. But Davi always wanted more than simple facts. She wanted details and explanations, insights and thoughts. He had not spoken so much since his first year of carillon training, as a boy of fifteen.

Not for the first time recently, he found himself wandering through old memories. As a child, he'd always been outgoing, but since entering the compound, he'd grown reserved. The difficulty had begun within the first few months, but he'd ignored it for a long while. By the end of that first year, however, his abilities had developed to the point that he was overwhelmed by the thoughts and emotions of others. The personal connections created through conversation made it only that much easier to attune to others' feelings. Withdrawing from such interactions had made those feelings easier to block, keeping the intrusion to a bearable level. He'd focused his attention on blocking techniques, but no matter how he progressed, his talent kept pace.

Just when he'd thought he would be driven insane, his combat and defense training began. When he donned his first kapon at seventeen, he discovered that the armor decreased the barrage further. He'd never quite understood why that should be the case, but it was such a welcome respite that he was rarely tempted to question it closely. Since that day, he had never been in populated areas without that additional barrier, choosing even to sleep fully clad. In fact, except to bathe, the only time he took it off was when out hunting or training alone. Then, he would occasionally strip to his shorts and savor the freedom. How glorious to feel the warm sun on his bare skin, the cool breeze lifting the hair from his neck! It was yet another irony of his life that his dedication to Lirion, the God of Freedom, should indirectly force such physical restrictions. Of course, his was a special case, and the lifestyle decision was likewise entirely his. Still, it was odd to realize that he'd only seen his full face a handful of times in the past five years. There were no reflective surfaces in the bathing area, and he always shaved in his masked hood. After so many years, he found that more often than not, he couldn't quite remember what he looked like.

Petran's gaze was drawn to the mirror on the far wall. It seemed to taunt him, catching the moonlight and tossing it back. Never before had he been so tempted, almost as if the glass were beckoning him. How many times had he rejected the idea of putting a mirror in his own quarters? How many opportunities had he scoffed at, knowing that to look would only make it that much harder to put his helmet on once again? Yet suddenly, after years of acceptance, he found himself constantly fighting an ever-growing need to see his reflection. As if the events of the past weeks had so shaken his self-concept that he needed to somehow reestablish his identity.

Without even realizing it, he'd crossed the room to stand before the mirror. The reflection that greeted him was a familiar one, an armor-clad warrior in mask and helm, with little to distinguish him but his mode of dress. Without the rank markings, he could be any other member of the carillon. A wry smile touched the mouth of his reflection. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached up and pulled his helmet off. Tucking it under his arm, he paused, hand halfway back to his face. Already he could 'hear' the dreams of some of those sleeping, those he'd known longest. He knew that when he removed the hood, their thoughts would become that much stronger, and he'd be able to tune in to each sleeper with just the slightest nudge. He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, fighting the urge to close his eyes. Firmly grasping the top of his hood, he dragged it back to fall on his shoulders.

"So it does come off, after all."

Petran whirled about so suddenly that he nearly lost his balance. Sitting quietly on the bed, legs crossed beneath her, was a dismayingly awake Davi, the slightest of smiles gracing her lips.

"I must admit, I've never seen you off-guard before." The merest trace of amusement danced in her voice. "Does the demeanor come off with the uniform, or are you always taken by surprise this easily?"

Still stunned, he searched for something to say. What possible explanation could he offer? "No, I.. um, well.. i-it's just..." Panic like he'd never felt closed his throat, and he could do nothing but stand and stare at her.

Davi's eyes widened in shock. "My god, you're.. terrified!" She looked at him in astonishment, brow furrowing in confusion. "I was just teasing you, but you're.. afraid. Of me." Distress tightened her voice to a whisper. "But, why?"

Petran studied his boots, too ashamed to meet her gaze. He couldn't even think, much less formulate a response.

Reaching out, she took his arm. "Petran, what is it?"

His head came up with a snap, and he stared at her in disbelief. "How can you say that? Aren't you the slightest bit curious to know what the hell I'm doing here? You're not angry, or even frightened?"

Relief flashed across her features. "Oh, that. Well, to be honest, no. ItÍs not like you've ever hurt me before, and you're here every night, aren't you?"

"Wait a minute, you..." He shook his head as if to clear it. "You know?"

Eyes twinkling, Davi laughed gently. "Of course I do. I see you in my dreams, I can feel you watching over me, and I've always felt completely safe." She looked up at him with a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you quite so much. I had no idea that you thought it was a secret."

Searching for something to settle his thoughts, he seized on the first thought that managed to surface. Taking a deep breath, he said simply, "How long have you been watching me?"

"About as long as you've been watching me."

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Since I arrived her, I've found that you are always watching me. Your eyes follow me wherever I go. Why?"

Finally, the question he had dreaded. Retreating into his newly-found calm, he shrugged. "It is my duty. I am responsible for your safety," he responded, though he knew the truth went far deeper.

"And am I not safe here, among the carillon?"

Petran shook his head with a sigh. "To be honest, I don't know.æBefore your arrival, I would have said yes, without hesitation. But now that you're here, everything is uncertain."

"And you hate that uncertainty, don't you?" she asked. For a moment she appeared thoughtful, then she frowned and said, "Is it that why this is the first I've seen you without your helmet? It makes sense that you wear it while patrolling, but you don't take it off inside either, or even at meals. It is the one thing I've wondered about. Of all the carillon, you are the one I've been most inclined to trust, yet I had never seen your face before tonight, never glimpsed even that topmost layer of your soul. It's so distancing, keeping your face hidden all the time. Like you can't stand for anyone to know what you're thinking or feeling. Why is it that you insist upon closing yourself off?"

For a moment, Petran hadn't the slightest idea what to say. "I don't know if I can answer that. I'm not sure I know how to explain it. Except to say that I'm not trying to hide myself from everyone else, I'm trying to hide everyone else from me. Without that.. distance, I'm so bombarded by everyone else's thoughts and emotions that I can't even think. For a while, I was going slowly crazy trying to block it all out. The armor made a difference, though I don't know why. At first there was nothing I hated more than wearing it day in and day out. Except maybe the alternative. Now it's just part of who I am. I think that, ever since I first experienced that silence, my life has been about control. Not entirely by choice, mind you, but largely of necessity. Without that control, I would never make it through the day."

Clearing his throat, he attempted a nonchalant shrug. "In a lot of ways, you were right,the demeanor does come off with the uniform."

Davi's eyes widened in surprise. "That's why you were so upset when I startled you. You don't hate it, you fear it..." Her voice faltered, and her eyes shone with tears. "Forgive me?"

His breath escaped in a shocked laugh. "Forgive you? Forgive you for what?"

"For being so cruel." She plucked at the bedclothes as the tears threatened. "I thought it was funny, but I was hurting you. I was so busy enjoying seeing you at a loss for once, I didn't even stop to think about how you might be feeling."

Petran was momentarily speechless. As usual, she had managed to do the unexpected, surprising him yet again. Before he could think better of it, he pulled off his glove and caught her hand, kneeling to meet her gaze. "You really are a mystery, do you know that? Here I've been sneaking into your room night after night, without permission or explanation, and you're feeling guilty because you caught me at it. If anyone should feel ashamed, it's me."

Before she could argue, he cut her off. "No, it's true. I am ashamed. You put your trust in me, and I violated that trust. You're just too busy comforting me to notice. You haven't even asked me what I'm doing here."

A smile teased the corners of her lips. "I already know what you're doing here. The question is, do you?"

Her unexpected reaction scattered his thoughts, and he could only look at her in question. Her smile broadened as she leaned closer. "Maybe this will help," she whispered, and pressed her lips to his.

For a moment, he allowed himself to ignore the warning voices in his head, surrendering himself to emotion and pulling her close. For a moment, he allowed himself to pretend that kissing her was as right as it felt, forgetting that what he most desired could never be. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that his foolish dreams could be realized, even though those dreams challenged all that he held dear. And for just a moment, he allowed the love in his heart to consume him, leaving behind all that he knew and was.

Finally, he forced himself to push her away, though his entire being cried out in protest. With a pained sigh, he buried his face in his hands.

"Petran?" For the first time since he'd met her, she seemed truly uncertain. "What's wrong?" The silence stretched until she couldn't bear it. "Petran, please, talk to me."

Drawing a ragged breath, he looked up at her at last. "I.. I'm sorry. I should never have allowed that to happen. I don't know what came over me." Shaking his head, he looked at her bleakly. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? But whatever for?" Her voice was taut with consternation "Petran, I don't understand. What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? What's the matter? God, what isn't the matter?" Jumping to his feet, he began to pace. "I can't believe I let this happen! All I ever wanted was to be carillon, and now I'm a.. traitor!"

"A traitor? How could you be a traitor? You could never betray the carillon, Petran. You may not see that, but I do."

Groaning, he shook his head. "How can you have so much faith in me, especially now?"

"Well, I don't know why now should be any different, but I thought I already told you. I have faith in you because I know you. Because I love you."

Petran froze. In the moment before his heart resumed beating, he fought the urge to both dance and cry. Never before had he been so happy, and yet never before had he hurt so much. Swallowing hard, he struggled to keep his voice steady. "But, you can't. Please, I'm sorry, but you can't!" Sorrow etched his features as he pleaded with her.

Davi felt as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. "But, I thought..." Looking away, she covered her face, trying to keep the tears from falling. "I thought th-that you were the one, but.. You don't love me?"

"Love you? Of course I love you! But that doesn't matter, don't you see? I can't have you, no matter how much I might want to. My heart aches to betray him, every moment. But you're right, I could never be a traitor. Not even for you." He brushed a tear from the corner of his eye. "How could I? I live for your smile, but I'd die first."

"But, if you love me... How could loving me make you a traitor? Who do you betray by following your heart?"

"Tierval, who else? Loving you, I betray my leader, your husband, and in so doing, myself."

"Tierval? My husband? Why would I ever marry Tierval?!"

Petran stared at her in disbelief. "Because it is fated, it is.. destined."

Davi's laugh was almost crazed, and Petran felt a thrill of fear run through him. "Destined? My God, you're all insane! Does no-one think for themselves around here?"

"But, the Prophet wrote..."

"The Prophet wrote what? That I would marry Tierval? I would certainly expect him to think so, but you?"

"But, you don't understand..."

"No, you don't understand!" Suddenly it was Davi who was pacing. "How is it that you see so much, and yet see nothing? Tierval?" Davi snorted. "Let me tell you something about Tierval. There he sits, so complacent and self-assured. To his mind, the only challenge is to curb his lust until the time has come to make our union formal." The disgust in her voice was unmistakable.

"He has neither the vision nor the wisdom of a true leader, and his stubbornness has cost the carillon dearly. His narrow-minded vanity already taints us. Even you, Petran, would sacrifice all that you believe in, all that you hold sacred, for the sake of this 'destiny' that you perceive to be true. How is it, do you suppose, that I am to usher in a new era for the carillon? By blindly accepting Tierval as my husband? That unswerving adherence to tradition is what has caused the carillon to weaken so. We have grown stagnant over the generations. We have lost our ability to question, and to then seek out answers. We have forgotten, in our studying of histories, that the carillon order sprang not from unquestioning loyalty but from its very opposite -- righteous disobedience.

"That level of principle, that willingness to defy those in power, that commitment to do, above all else, what is right, is what made the carillon great! You have that principle, Petran. Why else would you be here tonight? What else explains your vigilance at this self-imposed watch, heedless of the danger to your position? You alone dare to consider Tierval less than perfect, less than all-powerful. You alone took it upon yourself to imagine your leader as fallible, fraught with weaknesses, and capable of atrocities. You questioned, Petran; weighed the evidence and chose ethics over orders.

"That is what will make us strong again. That's why I'm here. I am fated not merely to wed the present leader of the carillon, Petran." She searched his face for understanding. "My 'destiny', belais, is to choose a new one."

Petran's confusion washed over her in waves. For endless moments he simply stared, hope battling denial as her words penetrated his whirling thoughts.

"Oh, Petran," Davi shook her head sadly, "did you honestly think that only men have the power to shape the world by their actions? Are women simply to follow along? Did you think that my place in history was to be purely symbolic, and that I am to affect change by my presence alone?" Davi sighed. "How far we have yet to go. How much you have yet to learn."

Petran could feel her eyes gazing into his very soul. Suddenly, he desperately desired, more than anything, to not be found wanting. Forgetting all he had ever known or presumed to know, hed his mind to possibilities never before considered, and in that moment discovered truth. In an instant, he understood the world for what it was, and for the first time saw with absolute clarity.

Davi smiled knowingly. Reaching up, she laid her palm gently against his cheek, and for the briefest of moments her eyes sparkled golden. "Then again, perhaps not so much. After all, I'm not the only one with a destiny."

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