@lostxinxavarice | Oren
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...
He practically feel through the doorway onto the floor, scrambling anywhere he could tuck himself into, hands wrapping around his head, breathing heavy and broken and... oh god, so loud. His hand clapped over his mouth, trying to stifle that noise too, all while his mind spun and spun and buzzed and...