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**Conan’s hands burned as the heat of a thousand fires filled his veins, crisping the muscles around his blood and heating the marrow in his bones. A sudden and overwhelming sense of dread incaspulated his heart. His vision blurred to a reddish orange, stealing his ability to see with an unnecessary flourish.**

** He knew exactly what this was. It was an attack.**

** An attack from his memories.**

** He tried to yell but the words drowned in his throat and his gasping wouldn't let the sounds reach through his teeth.**

** “Excuse me!” A voice cut through his anguish, rocketing his consciousness back to where it should've been.**

** The boat.**

** A sailor girl about his age shoved rudely past him, like he wasn’t crippled in pain. His eyes focused shakily as she turned the corner, her fiery hair drifting in the wind.**

** The attack was gone.**

** How strange.**

** He ran his hands through dirty blond hair, rolling his eyes to spite the awful flood of emotions that had so very rudely invaded his mind. Conan’s eyes ran over the tormented scar crevices in between his hands from the fire.**

** His eyebrows jumped as he remembered a snippet from the prophecy. He reached into his pocket, carefully bringing out the crumpled parchment. **

** ****_“He will be tormented like no other, a living relic while burning through loss.”_**

**_ _****Reading the prophecy this time was scarily like reading an autobiography to Conan. **

** **