When I was a child my visions brought me nothing but fear. I saw the sky burn with a malice that was only quenched with a malice of equal measure. I saw distant, endless oceans roil with conflict. Warriors clashing with beasts from a evil moon above their sky. Heroes falling to evil. Villains rising to the light before being lost to the darkness.
I foresaw my own death.
My father sought advice from anyone who would offer it within our village and beyond. He taught me ways to keep me grounded during these episodes. To look away and keep my vision at home. My mother however, revealed to me a secret. That her mother was not of this planet. That she had fallen from the sky long ago, wielding a blade of light. She told me that my visions are a gift from my grandmother’s heritage, possibilities, portents of portential futures that I could allow to come to pass, or avert.
I foresaw my own death.
When I was older our home was found by the Republic. We were brought into a greater galaxy, full of secrets and greater possibilities. I decided to set forth, with my grandmother’s blade and my sight to guide me. I learned many, many things. I honed my abilities. Uncovered their nature. I was urged to seek out an monastic order so that my skills could be put to a higher purpose. I considered it, but my sight showed me other paths. I expended influence. I reached across worlds, using my foresight to make decisions others mistook for extreme luck or extreme cunning. The more I reached out, the more potential paths I foresaw, the more possible futures I could choose to live in if I wished.
I foresaw my own death.
It haunted me. No matter how I tried to look to another path, it all reached the same destination. I knew that death would be inescapable, all things must die eventually. But this manner of death, I did not want it. I did not choose it. I looked into ways to avert it, reached further and further. Tapped more paths than I had ever before. Then I found it, hidden in the most unlikely of places.
I found it within a scarecrow.