Cause and Effect

Nancor approached the bookcase, running his finger across the unmarked black spines until he picked out a journal, seemingly at random. Each book served an identical purpose, it didn’t matter exactly what one he read, he just knew he needed to review their contents. He sat down on one of the arm chairs in his lounge room, crossing one leg over the other. Flipping open the journal, he’s greeted with one of hundreds of newspaper clippings he’s collected over the sweeps. 

Macrou Corise: 8 sweeps old, Redblood. Loving matesprit to Apolin Liloce, trusted moirail of Papave Melori. Tragically killed in a shooting in Block 136’s Southern District. She leaves behind a promising career as a street musician, the district will forever mourn that they will no longer hear her violin in the late hours of the night. She will be greatly missed. 

Eftire Sektar: 10 sweeps old, Blueblood. His body was found in the burned-out remains of his corner store, Sektar’s Greengrocers. Residents of the surrounding apartments fondly recall his cheerful demeanour and all the work he performed to positively influence the community. He leaves behind no quadrants. We will not forget him. 

Cypris Reskhy: 5 sweeps old, Greenblood. A young apprentice at Achero Monett’s metalworking studio. His body was discovered in Block 136’s West Harbour, believed to have drowned after falling off the pier. The Monett studio will be holding a silent vigil for the loss of their apprentice, and welcome friends of Reskhy to attend. He was tragically taken from this world far too soon.

Nancor reads and then re-reads the names on every page, ensuring that he will not forget them. Dreavs Magius, Ahycee Kiishu, Parada Goshen… All trolls he had once met, all trolls whose futures he had warned them of, all trolls he was unable to save.

Or did he really doom them to this fate?

Arctus’ words from earlier still hung heavily in his mind. “Have you considered that your psiionics do not predict the future, but alter it?”. How would Nancor ever know for certain? He could not refute the claim without proof, but his only proof is that there are trolls who survive his predictions. Survivorship bias. Many do survive, if he were to think logically, but they do not hold the same weight as those who do not. Those who didn’t heed his warnings, those whom he may have been too cryptic when telling their future, those he could not give an accurate description of his visions to, and those who felt powerless against their newfound knowledge and gave into their fears. He couldn’t fault any of them for dying, the burden was entirely on himself. All the things he was unable to do for them, and the paranoia and anxiety he specifically created. They were paying customers and agreed to the terms he set out for them, but he was still the one who spelled out their fate in clear words.

He thought of Benrii - That yellowblood and his obsession with fate, and more importantly with seeing Nancor punished for his insolence. To laugh in the face of the gods, taking what they have set out for each and every individual, and pull people off their predetermined path for his own selfish ends. To alleviate his guilt complex, to feel like a saviour and not the Angel of Death those afraid of him have spread across the city. If he can save one person, then that makes up for those he allowed to die, is that right? No, of course not. A death is a death, no amount of good deeds could clean the blood off his hands.

He thought of his first victim - that woman, all those sweeps ago. He was only a child, scared of the visions that plagued him, knowing that something was wrong and she was in immediate danger. Would she have lived if his screams didn’t distract her? Would she still have been angry at him if he didn’t beg and plead for her not to cross the road? She died because of his carelessness, but what did he learn from that?

Mincin Kotone was dismembered by her kismesis. Akilis Pentel was targeted by a random gang attack. Lohika Edjele was crushed by a falling bookshelf. Jaekal Raposo fell into a frozen river. 

And yet, he kept going. He kept dealing out these fortunes, using his psiionics under the guise of ‘helping’ others, when he could never guarantee their safety in the first place. He was never a good person, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself. He is nothing but a vile curse masquerading as a blessing.

Have you considered that your psiionics do not predict the future, but alter it? Of course he did, he feared nothing more. And now he wasn’t sure if he could convince himself otherwise.