Clearsight was in the library.

She was always in the library. Her parents often joked that they should have let her egg hatch there instead of on the lunar hatching peak. Of course, if they had, she wouldn’t have been born under a full moon, so she wouldn’t have gotten the gift of prophecy, and then she wouldn’t have needed to spend so much time in the library in the first place. But whenever she pointed this out, her parents always shook their heads and sighed as if she just didn’t understand their spectacular sense of humor.

The librarian had given Clearsight a study room of her own, although she suspected that was because he thought she was insane and he wanted the option to lock her in if necessary.

Partially blank scrolls were unrolled all the way across the five tables around her, and she hurried from one to another, scratching quick notes and trailing ink splatters from her claws.

Would it change anything if she did pretend to be insane? She closed her eyes and tried to see if a future unfolded around that idea. Would she end up in the asylum? Would it save the tribe? Would that life be better than the other options?

It was too unlikely; no one would believe her even if she tried it. There was no path there.

No escape.

Keep searching. She went to the next table and tried to follow the timeline she’d started on that scroll. But it was so muddled. Step one: meet him, step two: chaos along every potential timeline.

A heavy sigh came from the doorway.

“Hello, Father,” she said without looking up. This note — when did she write this? The SeaWing brings death. The SeaWing brings salvation. Don’t let him come. He must come, or all is lost.

Aaaaaargh. Clearsight put her head down on the desk and thumped her tail on the stone floor.

“Clearsight,” her father said. “You are too young to worry this much.”

“I should worry more,” she said, lifting her head and squinting at the SeaWing note again. Something really terrible was going to happen in the Kingdom of the Sea not long from now — something involving a lot of death. The kingdom was so far away, it was hard to be sure of the details. Should she try to warn someone? She wanted to, but she couldn’t see any paths where anyone would believe her. Poor SeaWings. “I mean, what is the point of seeing the future if you can’t fix it? If I just concentrate harder, I can follow all the paths. I can figure this out.”

“All the paths?” her father echoed. “Every future that spirals out of every choice you and every other dragon make for the rest of your life? Can’t you hear yourself? It’s impossible, dearest. That way lies madness.”

“No,” she said absently. “I just checked. No madness in my future, not a viable option.”

“This gift is not supposed to consume your entire life,” he said. He stepped over the scrolls on the floor, narrowly avoided a blue ink puddle, and stretched one of his wings between her and the table. She looked up at him, rubbing her forehead.

“Listen,” he said with infinite gentleness. “I know your power is stronger than any future-teller the NightWings have had in generations. I know it feels like you can see everything ahead of you.”

“It’s not that simple,” she said. “It’s not, ‘here’s your life, that’s the way it will be.’ It’s every possible life, all the things that could happen to me and the tribe, and it all depends on what I do next. But there are so many — I can’t keep track — and the further I look into the future, the more confusing and random it gets …”

“I understand.” He wrapped his wings around her and she leaned into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. She knew he was trying, but he actually didn’t understand at all. He didn’t have either this power or mind reading. He was sweet and ordinary and not tortured, and his choices made almost no difference to the future. “But Clearsight, even if you could see everything, that doesn’t mean you can control everything. Or anything. Things will happen. Other dragons will change your path and you won’t be able to stop them.”

That is far more true than you know, Father.

Darkstalker’s face flashed in her mind again: the face of a dragon she had yet to meet, but who came with a torrent of visions — joy and love and pain and horror, so mixed-up she couldn’t untangle it, couldn’t even breathe whenever she thought about it.

“I should go away,” she blurted. “Far away. Maybe the rainforest. Maybe the Mud Kingdom. Maybe the lost continent. Oh, that would change everything — it would have to!” She leaned back to look up at his face. His eyes were sad, but she knew they would get much sadder in many, many of her futures.

“I could have a whole different life, Father. I could be an explorer; I could chart the rest of the world. I could be alone, and then I’d be the only dragon who could change my destiny, right?”

If I never meet him … is the darkness lighter? Is everyone safer?

She closed her eyes, trying to follow that path — that weak, trembling thread of a future where she flew off across the ocean tomorrow, all by herself. It wasn’t impossible. It was only nearly impossible. But she didn’t see any success that way … that fog at the end of the path probably meant she died somewhere over the sea. And there was still blood and darkness for the tribe, even with her gone. Maybe worse.

That was the worst part; most of the futures where she avoided him were even more scary. As if knowing her made a difference to his path, but only maybe.

A flash of a silver-and-gold crown, twisted into sharp thorny points, tumbled through her head.

Which timeline was that — oh, table three. She untangled herself from her father, leaned over, and made a note.

“What are you so afraid of, dearest?” her father asked, taking her claws gently to keep them still. The blue ink smudged his talons like IceWing bloodstains.

Why do I even know that IceWing blood is blue?

Because I’ve seen it, way too much of it, down hundreds of paths.

“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I’m sorry, Father.” In the futures where I tell you his name too early, you end up dead. I can’t see how or exactly why, but that’s where they all go, and that is one thing I can prevent. One choice that will keep someone I love safe.

He sighed again. “Clearsight, your mother and I have been discussing this. We think it’s time for you to go to school. Every other NightWing dragonet started when they were one, and you’re nearly two and a half.”

“No,” Clearsight said, panic rising in her chest. “I can’t. I told you. That’s when everything speeds up — that’s when I lose control. I need more time to plan.” She turned frantically to point at the scroll on table two, which was covered in desperate spiky handwriting. “That’s what happens after I go to school. Look at all the timelines! They just explode! I have to chart them all before I get there. If the teacher puts me in that art group instead of this one, things change. If I sit with these dragons at lunch instead of those dragons, futures ripple in new directions. If I miss a day here or give the wrong answer here or share my scroll with this hapless dragon here, the entire tribe might die.” She stabbed at the scroll, leaving little rips all the way across it, and burst into tears.

“Oh, Clearsight,” her father said with hopeless distress. “It can’t be that bad. One two-year-old dragonet isn’t going to doom the entire tribe to destruction. The worst that can happen is you don’t get into the astronomy program, and maybe your mother will be disappointed, but no one will die. Trust me.” He patted her back sympathetically.

He had no idea, NO IDEA. Maybe most two-year-old dragonets couldn’t affect the future of the whole tribe, but she could.

“Besides,” he said, “we don’t think this is healthy, what you’re doing in here. School might be a good distraction — give you something else to work on, friends to keep your mind off things. Maybe it’ll help you see that we’re not all so doomed after all.” He laughed a little, and she wondered what a mind reader would find in his thoughts. Was he really not worried about her visions of war and bloodshed? She hadn’t told her parents everything she’d seen, but she’d woken up screaming enough nights for them to get the general idea of what the future held.

Probably. Maybe. Unless she could fix it.

She had to fix it. No one else could.

“Please don’t make me go yet,” she said, battling down a sob.

A long, horrible moment passed; futures hung trembling in the balance.

He sighed. “All right, dearest. We’ll wait until you’re three.” He tipped her chin up to look at him. “But then there’s no more delay. The queen wants her seers properly trained, and we’re pushing her patience already with our special requests. So. When you turn three, you’re going to school. Are we in agreement?”

Not a lot of viable paths where she could change this fate. Her mind flicked through them, then gave in.

“Yes, Father. I’d better get back to work, then.” Maybe she should start over with the school scroll. If this was inevitable, maybe she needed to fill all the tables with what-happens-when-I-go-to-school scrolls — yes, with more room for all the possibilities. She’d bought herself some time. She could hide in here for a few more months and figure this out.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Clearsight,” he said, sweeping to the door. “It’s not the end of the world if you let yourself sleep, you know.”

That’s what you think.

She dipped her claws in the inkwell again and missed the moment when her father left.

So I will have to meet him before too long. My Darkstalker, my fate. I always knew the other timelines were unlikely. He has this power, too; he would find me.

It was almost calming, accepting that. She didn’t have to worry now about the futures where he was alone and it made him angry and callous. She didn’t have to worry about the flimsy paths where he found someone else (with no powers and no backbone, she thought with a really annoying flare of jealousy). As those timelines dropped away, she saw how bad they would have been — for both of them.

But what was left was such a daunting tangle. Two dragons who could see the future, each trying to stay on a particular path.

Start at the beginning. Follow one thread at a time.

Her claws scratched across the paper, spilling her visions into cluttered mountains of words that she’d have to puzzle out later.

Just keep trying. It’s for the sake of the tribe.

I must have this gift for a reason.

If I can see all our possible destinies — surely I can make sure we get the right one.