Those words were like a sharp key, instantly unlocking the memories buried deep within Astra's soul.
In an instant, her pupils dilated, and the world around her blurred. Her consciousness was dragged into a hazy vortex, where fragments of memories surged forward, drowning her thoughts.
Memories of the Past Life
She was transported to an ancient era.
Under a gray, oppressive sky, the fields lay barren and lifeless. Starving peasants trudged through the dust, their eyes hollow, their feeble cries carried away by the wind — a mournful dirge echoing across the land.
She stood inside a grand, opulent government hall, her body wrapped in a pale blue robe. In her fingers, a cold brass coin rested. Around her, several others in identical robes exchanged uneasy glances. They were like her — mystics, gifted with extraordinary abilities.
They had once been comrades, bound by shared purpose and trust. In the beginning, they used their gifts to serve the people: predicting weather patterns, advising on planting seasons, and ensuring abundant harvests.
But those days of innocent service were long gone. Now, their powers were shackled, exploited by the greedy hands of the powerful.
At the head of the hall, a high-ranking official glared at them, his eyes flickering with impatience. "Predict this year's grain prices. I need to get ahead of the market and make a killing."
Astra closed her eyes, fingers forming intricate calculations. Visions of the future swirled in her mind. She spoke softly, her voice tinged with hesitation: "After the autumn harvest, grain prices will skyrocket."
Greed flashed across the official's face. Without hesitation, he barked his orders: "Hoard the grain! Buy up every last sack you can find!"
A tremor of unease fluttered through her chest, but she quelled it, still naïve enough to believe that her prediction would help the government manage supplies and protect the people from famine.
But reality was a cruel teacher.
Months later, prices surged to unimaginable heights. The streets filled with wails and despair, while the official fattened his coffers. Her prophecy had become a tool of oppression, squeezing the last breath from those she had sworn to help.
Starvation swept through the streets. Lifeless bodies littered the ground.
A frail old woman, her clothes in tatters, knelt before her, eyes glazed with hopelessness.
"You've destroyed us..."
In that moment, it felt as if her soul was nailed to a pillar of shame. Regret blazed through her like a relentless fire, consuming every shred of faith she once held.
They came for her and her companions soon after.
Branded as "deceivers" and "public enemies," they were dragged into a lightless prison, accused of corrupting society and sowing chaos.
In the damp, cold cell, they clung to each other, their tears mingling with the darkness.
"We were wrong… We wanted to heal the world, but we became tools of tyranny."
They swore to each other, their voices quivering with despair:
"If there is another life, we will never let our powers be twisted by the hands of the powerful."
But their fate was sealed.
That pitch-black night, a dark force tore through their souls, shredding their essence with unbearable pain. As she screamed in agony, a frigid, unfeeling voice whispered a curse into her ears:
"You used your power to aid corruption. You shall never know peace."