Except from Simon’s Journal – January 22, 4-1883

  We may never know why the humans of the Red are so special. Why do so many of them grow up to experience visions when no one from the other human worlds has the same ability?

  A rumored twenty percent of people from the Red are blessed with visions, and of those twenty percent, maybe ten percent become Predictors. The rest? They have dream visions—Dreamers. Those Dreamers are treated much like everyone else in the Red. Their visions aren’t usually useful, after all. In their dreams, they often see visions of the person most important to them in real time. Sure, they are taken away for training for a year or two, but then they return to normal society.

  Predictors are another story altogether. Predictors do just that—predict the future. They have visions of events that haven’t happened yet and work together to put together the puzzle that is our future. Alone, the Predictors can’t do much, but together they can map the future and provide clarity for those who ask. It is a powerful and volatile ability—one that changes a person. Predictors built the Red into what it is today. Thousands of years ago, when we Mirnen first came to the Red, the Predictors were there to greet us. Many say they averted a massacre by offering to assist the Mirnen with their predictions.

  Most people only acknowledge dream visions and predictions, but there is one more type of vision called the Sight, though it is thought to be extinct. This type of vision is so closely tied to eyesight that blinding someone with the Sight will render them powerless. The Sight is the power to see everything—long distances, in total darkness, and even to predict a person’s next move. It’s a powerful technique that made them a threat, so my people outlawed it and slaughtered everyone with the skill.

  Dahlia has the Sight—something her mother saw coming, even if she doesn’t recognize it herself yet. With her father to train her and care for her, and the Sight to offer some protection, I don’t worry about Dahlia while I am away. In fact, other than that single run-in a couple of years ago in the market, I haven’t seen Dahlia since I dropped her off at the orphanage. Instead, I’ve spent my time in the Marrow—keeping my ears open for any sign of the conflict I know is coming. Gemma was confident Dahlia would be safe until well into her twenties. Until then, I’ll keep my distance to avoid drawing attention to her—and to avoid her scrutiny. After all, there’s no sneaking around someone with the Sight. They see all.

  Dahlia

  “They’re paying what?” Portia was stunned, and I didn’t blame her.

  From beside her, Max was speechless from my retelling of the events in the bar the night before.

  I’d been out for most of the night. Verrin and I drank for hours, and eventually the guards who had helped with Portia’s transport joined us. We all drank far too much—so much that I’d woken up just after noon in one of the Ledge’s guest rooms with Yvan’s muscled arms wrapped around me and my head resting on Verrin’s warm chest. We were all entirely naked, of course, and I couldn’t help but run my eyes over each of the scratches I’d left on their skin as memories of the way they’d touched me played in my mind on repeat.

  Was it a good night? Yes.

  Was I proud of what I’d done? Also, yes.

  I hadn’t been embarrassed in the slightest when Al came looking for Verrin and found us all tangled up on the bed’s green linens. I just hoped he wouldn’t tell Max. That wasn’t an argument I wanted to have with him anytime soon.

  “Five hundred thousand,” I repeated as I admired my nails—currently painted gold with little green crystals glued in a crescent near my cuticles—inspired by Portia’s gift, of course.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “And you’re certain you aren’t the Reaper?” Portia asked—the incredulity in her voice drawing my attention from my pretty nails.

  “For the hundredth time—no,” I crossed my arms and slumped in my seat, “The Reaper is a man—I’m certain of it. Do I look like a man to you?”

  “No, of course not,” Portia waved a hand as she turned towards the window behind her desk and murmured, “I simply don’t want to start looking for the Reaper if it’s a waste of my time.”

  I sat up straight in my chair, “You’re actually going to try to identify him for money?”

  “For five hundred thousand, Dahlia!” Portia whirled around to face me, suddenly angry, “Every person in Firen—human or Imm—will try to be the first to identify him! Don’t act surprised that I intend to do the same.”

  “That’s enough money for us to expand our wine business a few years early,” Max mused, looking at his mother excitedly, “We could even expand the transport business.”

  She placed her palms on the desk and leaned forward, “Yes. Exactly, so I’ll be very angry if someone beats me to it.”

  “Whatever,” I rolled my eyes and slumped back in my seat to admire my nails once more, “If it’s money that makes you happy, do what makes you happy, Portia.”

  “I’m glad you understand, Halfling.”

  I cringed inwardly at her use of the term but continued to study my nails as if unfazed.

  “You are going to find the Reaper for me, Dahlia,” Portia murmured, her words startling me.

  “Mother no—” Max protested with wide eyes before I cut him off to speak up for myself.

  “Not a chance,” I scoffed as I stood, “I happen to respect his work—the Imms are kidnapping children, Portia! We should be supporting him—not stabbing him in the back for money!”

  “I’m not giving you a choice,” Portia narrowed her eyes at me, the expression confirming that she was serious.

  I kicked the chair away angrily to clear my path to the door at the back of the room as I muttered, “We’ll see about that.”

  “Don’t make me threaten you, Dahlia,” Portia warned, her voice becoming low and dark.

  Rage consumed me in an instant—a rare Imm-like reaction I worked hard to control. Imms were known for their tempers. My father had to practically beat it out of me, but even I fell into fits of rage on occasion.

  I whirled and hissed, “Don’t make me threaten you, Portia.”

  As far as comebacks go, it wasn’t my best work, but Portia still eyed me warily as I stepped towards her with firm, purposeful steps, “Don’t forget who I am. I’m not about to throw away my principles for money, Ferro. You’re lucky I have principles at all—otherwise, I would’ve killed you a long time ago for simply knowing my secret.”

  “Dahlia,” Max said in a low, calm voice, as if he were trying to soothe a frightened animal, “Let’s talk about this civilly.”

  “No—I’m not doing it,” I put my foot down, somehow more pissed after Max’s attempt to calm me down.

  Portia’s narrowed eyes became a glare, until finally, she spoke, “If you don’t fall in line, I’ll make sure many more people learn that secret—is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

  Max’s breath caught, the sound cutting through the air as I recoiled, so shocked by the threat, I felt bile rise into my throat. Portia had never seemed inclined to reveal my secret. In fact, she’d gone to great lengths to help me protect it. I was her asset, and Portia protected all her assets. Unfortunately, it seemed that protection only went so far.

  “Are you serious?” I choked out—still in shock, “Is the Imm reward all I’m worth to you?”

  Portia didn’t answer, her jaw tightening as she mulled over my question. I turned to Max, desperate for support. “What do you say about this?”

  Max shook his head and slumped back into his chair. “Keep me out of this. I’m not getting between you two—you know that.”

  And I did know that. Max never got in the middle of my disputes with his mother, and this time was no different. It was one of the reasons I didn’t have a future with him. I couldn’t imagine marrying someone who wouldn’t stand with me when I needed him—support me—even if it was against his mother.

  Portia took her seat and picked up a paper from the desk, lifting it to review its contents. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t respond until she spoke in a low, threatening tone without looking up from the paper, “It could be worse, Dahlia. I could make your life far more difficult. All I want in exchange for safekeeping your secret is for you to identify the Reaper. Is that really so bad? We all know you’re capable—excellent at tracking people down for me.”

  I wanted to argue, but I knew it was futile. So, I rose to my feet and quietly walked to her office door—still shocked that the woman I’d grown to view as a parent of sorts could blackmail me like this after all these years. I’d thought she cared about me. Apparently, she cared far more for money, and to her, I was worth less than the prize for catching the Reaper.

  ? Overpowers: Magical Girl Crossover [Grimlight Progression Urban Fantasy/Genre based Power System] ?

  by Moawar

  He, Life, had a simple job.

  His responsibility as an Overpower was to make sure that fiction stories and the characters in them follow their dictated path. He always did his job well enough, not more or less than was needed.

  His latest assignment, however, would, in retrospect, prove to be his most challenging one of all.

  He would find himself in a unfamiliar world. There he'll have to quickly adapt to guide Nozomi.

  The strongest magical girl with the potential to accidentally destroy those she seeks to protect in her fight against evil.

  What to Expect:

  -If you like the psychological aspects of Madoka Magica and the mixing of different genres a crossover story brings then this story is for you