Page 137 of A Simple Truth

Xentar was a lot more patient than I could ever be. Even as I turned my millionth rock into a dull shade of gray, he didn’t complain, but just guided me along. But ultimately, his patience had run out, as he sighed looking at my poorly shaped gray rock, letting me be done for the day.

I’d practice, of course, even without my unruffled teacher. In fact, it had become somewhat of a curious habit, to pick up random objects around me and try to change their color orshape. Trying and failing most of the time. My Creator’s powers were there, I had accepted that. But it felt as if they were locked deep within me and no matter how much I pushed or searched, only an echo of them came out.

I climbed up the ladder to the small loft. The round rug felt nice under my feet as I hopped onto my bed. I was still a much better Creator than a Healer, considering I had yet to see even a glimpse of my healing powers. A part of me contemplated if I had them in the first place. I pulled off my boots and fluffed my pillow, climbing under a blanket.

I needed a nap. A quick, short nap, where I wouldn’t have dreams, where I could just rest and sleep, then I’d wake up and practice more.

I yawned, rolling over to my side, pulling the covers up to my shoulder as I held on to the corner of the soft fabric. My mind was slowly drifting asleep when, with a loud clap, a bird appeared in my room, making my heart stop for a moment.

I sat up, thrill running through my veins, as I grabbed the paper she held in her onyx beak.

‘Was?’ As in past tense?

Perhaps it was my slumbering mind, but perplexity etched on my face as my brows furrowed deeper. I reread it again and still couldn’t decode it.

What?I wrote, giving up. My hands rubbed my eyes, no longer caring for the nap, even though my mind felt like mush.

You said ‘sorry, I was being one.’Was,as if in the past tense. Are you implying you are no longer a coward?he asked, and the corner of my lips tugged upward in a crooked smile.

You did not write to me for a wholeweekand that is what you came up with?I scribbled, narrowing my eyes down at the paper. But soon, my heart fluttered, and a secret smile hid behind my thinned lips, realizing he spent a whole week overthinking a single sentence that I wrote.

You are deflecting, Daughter of the Dead, just answer the question, he replied.His neat letters lined perfectly, and I could almost hear his voice as I reread his words. I scratched my head with the pen and then wrote.

Yes. No longer a coward.I bit my lip, anxiously scribbling another sentence.Perhaps I realized that some people are worth being courageous for.I handed off the folded paper to the patiently waiting bird. My eyes watched her disappear into thin air as my heart raced at unknown speeds.

“So ‘brave and courageous’ but not enough to admit your true feelings…Ugh!” I mocked myself, flopping on the pillow with a grunt, nervously waiting for his response.

But he did not reply.

Three days.

Three days had passed, and I had not heard from him.

At first, I was worried, concerned, staying up each night in hopes of Liriya showing up, waking up even at the slightest noise.

Days, I spent watching for every bird flying in the sky with false expectations.

I summoned a large, fiery sphere in my hands, throwing it far into the ocean, watching it clash against the water.

“He is at war,” I tried to reason but my righteous anger protested. “He could’ve sent a sentence,” I hissed out loud as I summoned more of my raw fire. “You are the one who pushed him away,” I countered. “He hasn’t been perfect either!”Well, actually he kind of has been,the last remnants of reason whispered inside. “Ugh!” I groaned.

Perhaps it was unreasonable and perhaps it was irrational of me, but my worry had long turned to frustration, and frustration had turned to anger. The next thing I knew, I was on the beach mid-day, sending blasts of angry fire into the open air.

Three long fucking days.

And the worst part was that there was no end in sight. I had no way of contacting him, no way of knowing where he was and if he was okay.

It had only been three days so far. Yet it could be a week, two, maybe even a month before I heard from him again. And that wasIFI heard from him again.

I huffed, letting my fire linger atop the large waves, matching the roaring inferno within me.

I staredat my hand for a long time. The small, fresh cut from my knife on my palm didn’t get better, no matter how hard I tried finding the healing powers within me.

“Healers can’t heal themselves, Finn.” Xentar rolled his eyes, climbing up the ladder to my loft. The wooden floor creaked under his heavy steps as he walked down to the desk, pulling out a few items.

“Yeah, well one could only wish.” I sighed, as I grabbed the small bandage, wrapping my hand with it. Xentar motioned to the unlit oil lamp. My other hand moved, and the room lit up with warm light a second later. “Why does magic have to be so complicated?” I whined, folding my knees under myself, resting my head against the clay wall. “Like the Destroyers; you have to make sure you don’t burn out, or you are dead. Creators are not even Creators, more like Changers, since they can’t create things out of thin air, but they change the existing elements, and eventhen, they have to give up a part of their soul to create anything living and cool. Healers literally gradually lose all of their magic healing people and they can’t even heal themselves! And don’t even get me started about Seers, one wrong step in between threads and their brains are jumbled for life. Magic seemed a lot more exciting before I actually had it,” I scoffed. Xentar chuckled, grabbing a jacket out of his dresser.

“Everything has a price, Finn. That’s just how life is,” he replied.

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