Canvas of Prophecy

leted painting. His mind was swirling with confusion and disbelief, replaying the events of the night before. He hadn

r work of art. But Elias knew better. He had felt the life within the strokes, seen the way the image had

flames devouring buildings, and the streets swallowed in darkness. And in the midst of it all, shadows of fleeing figures seemed to dart betw

n his muscles, and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. But no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it, the truth lin

was more than just a representation of his dreams. It was a warning-a vision of what was to come. His mi

cene. If it was the future, was it inevitable? Could he change

they gnawed at him, filling his chest with a suffocating dread. He felt as though h

But would that even help? Was the future truly written in the strokes of his brush, or was it

the calamity that Elias had seen in his vision. For a brief moment, he considered running-leaving the city, escaping this terrible burde

ping the remnants of paint from his fingers. His mind chu

an who spent his days crafting portraits and landscapes, selling his work for a modest living. Ther

ing before a canvas that he

. His heart leapt into his throat, and for a moment, he considered igno

ar voice called f

he moved to Arithria years ago. He was a jovial man, always full of energy and enthusiasm, with a tendency to burst into E

needed was for anyone to see it, to ask questions that he couldn't answer. But

e room and opened the door ju

ever, and his hands were stained with the telltale signs of a morning spent working on

e was sure it looked more like

clearly intrigued. "On s

io without waiting for an invitation. Elias's heart skipped a beat as he w

aking a step closer to the

ween Mathis and the canvas, blocking his view. "It's.

uying it. "It doesn't look li

rsation. He couldn't let Mathis see the full extent of the

said quickly. "It's still rough.

y. I just wanted to see if you were up for breakfast. There's a new bakery d

ts still tangled in the painting. "Mayb

glance. "You sure? You look

insisted, his voic

d. "Alright. But don't lock yourself away i

overed painting, Mathis left

he truth remained-he couldn't keep hiding. At some point, someone would see the painting.

canvas, unsure of what to do next. Was there a way to change what he had painted? Could he undo t

dy moved on instinct. His hand brought the brush to

ime, it wa

r hues-blues and greens, as though he were trying to paint something hopeful. But no matter ho

omething ne

figure began to take shape. It was faint at first, a mere silhou

s a w

there was something about her presence that sent a chill down Elias's spine. She wasn't p

to glow with a strange, otherworldly light. She stood at the edge of the painting,

nd, soft and distant, like a

ange what is a

t heaving with fear. The woman in the painting stared back at him, her eyes piercing

eling. What was happening? Who

. He turned and fled from the room, bursting out into the cool morning air.

ion of the burning city lingered in his mind

ange what is a

ant, unreal. He passed familiar shops and vendors setting up for the day, but he barely registered them. His thoug

a simple artist like him be drawn into

out over the river that wound its way through Arithria. The water was calm, reflecting the early mo

take it far away from him. But he knew, deep down, that it wouldn't change anything. The

n painting, a sense of control and clarity that made the world feel more manageable. But

s words ec

ange what is a

s wrong? What if h

y by and wait for the future to unfold as the painting had shown. If his art h

e what was written. He would