Hey there! I actually found that it is easy if I have an updating schedule. My most favourite quote below! :)

Colours

*************

He moved his eyes beneath his burning eyelids. They advised him to open them, but he refused in fear of what he might see. The colours terrified him. It was like a moth's fascination towards a flame. Vibrancy of the hues enticed but it made him confused. And out of that confusion and misunderstanding, fear grew.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His hands was fisted. He parted his lips to take in air, and that was enough for the unpitying cold air to tarnish his throat. Involuntary coughs left him, tears collected behind his eyes, yet he refused to yield to his eyes.

As though someone knew he was suffering, soothing basil scent invaded his nose. He sighed in bliss. Entwined with it parsley and dill made their presence known.

He stopped breathing. The herbs meant one thing; he was under a healer's care. Though he knew Trystan knew about the herbs, he would never hoard it in the place he stays.

Young swallows hummed as they flew above the Fangforn. The realisation hit him hard. How could his ears hear them?

A woman sang. Her voice was not sky shattering sweet. Her notes were out of order yet it had a calming sensation over him. She sang for herself, not caring what the world would think of that.

"I know you are awake," her voice said. He heard her place the cutlery somewhere near his ears. "What is preventing you from opening your eyes?"

Was she the healer who cured him?

"Thank you," he whispered, his throat straining even more.

"You know, drinking water might help you, son," she chuckled.

Was she older than him? He frowned; most healers were indeed old enough to let their crafted hands work.

"I can't," he said, his hoarse voice sounding offbeat to his ears.

"Why can't you?" she questioned.

"I will have to open my eyes and that means..." he trailed off. Should he say what happened to him when he opened his eyes to the one who saved him?

"If you don't drink water, then you will die from thirst and Chavva will kill me if I let her patient die," she said, lowering her voice towards the end. "And I asked you drink water. I never asked you to open your eyes."

So she was not the one who saved him? Curiosity plunged into him, forcing his previously shut eyes open. He regretted once he did it.

Right on top of his head, a bunch of dill was hanging from the ceiling. Dull sunlight gave life to the matte brown above. The green herbs had a shade of grass green, a tint of brown and some black shrouding them.

"Get up now," the woman advised. She turned her back to do something, perhaps to give his medicine.

He sat with his back protesting. The ending of his spine throbbed and forced his to lie down. His head was swimming in oil. In spite of his long days of sleep, his eyes burned.

The woman was old. Her white hair in a tight bun and her slightly wrinkled skin gave away. He could tell that she never allowed her age to meddle with her affairs. She stood tall, her back erect, her movements sharp and she hobbled the room quite fast.

She faced him suddenly while searching for something. Her cerulean blue eyes cut through his soul. She quirked her eyes and smiled. She was in her late fifties.

He blinked. Had those visions gone finally? She did not have any colour around her. He saw the plant again. Monotonously, the herb showed him its hidden three colours that could not be sighted by the naked eye.

She smirked. As though she knew a secret, she shrugged.

Her action made all the colours cocooning her visible to him. He recoiled and hugged his legs closer to him. Blue, purple, cyan, magenta, yellow, silver. The lighter shades blended to white while the darker shades to black. No, not white and black; it was light and dark; redemption and chaos; ecstasy and torment; the state of fulfilment and envy; peace and wrath it was perfect balance.

He gasped while she gave him a secret smile and hid her colours.

"Wh-wha-" he began. "What was that?"

"It is, my son, is what I would like to call your aura," she explained. "The outer extension of your soul on your mortal body. It is advisable to hide it at all cost."

"So," he gulped. "You hid yours?"

"Yes," she stated, walking towards a table. "You have to conceal yours. They are an array of red, orange and yellow. Could easily give your location to those hunters."

"Red?" He was baffled.

"You are a fire wielder, are you not?" she asked, mixing a green liquid with water. "Why it is surprising you?"

He froze. "How do you know?"

"What does it look like?" she chuckled.

Sometimes people as young as a three-year-old can wield power while sometimes an old man of sixty realise he has magic in his blood.

Rys's voice spoke to him. But he knew better. It was a memory. A memory where his friend told him a wonderful epic.

"Yo-you are a magic wielder?" he asked.

"I prefer the term Seer." She handed that weird smelling liquid to him.

"Drink." She commanded.

"Seer?" he glared at the drink. "You can see the future?"

She almost scowled. "Why do people assume that if a person is a Seer, they can see only the future? Sesha is both past and future. I can see only past."

"There are two Seers?" Aeron frowned when he lifted the glass to drink.

"One to see the past, the other to see the future," she said.

Its aroma was sharp. If he had a nose block, it would have cleared.

"Should I drink this?" He made a face.

She rose her eyebrows.

"Fine. Fine," he muttered.

With another glance at the liquid, he drank the medicine in one shot. It was spicy and bitter at the same time. No, bitter dominated.

His first reflex was to spit it all out, but one look from the woman, he forced it down his throat.

His eyes brimmed with tears. He felt his nose prickling.

"Water," he gasped, one hand clutching the glass, the other the bed edge.

With a look of amusement on her face, she took the glass from his hands and filled it with water.

"Here," she smiled.

He could not understand what was there to smile. Yet he drank the water. After a pause, he decided to break it.

"I never got your name," he said, clearing his throat.

"You never asked."

"Well, what is your name?" he asked.

"Raven," she replied.

It was a quite a unique name. Back in his home, names like these were frowned upon but not commented on. Perhaps, some named their children like that.

"When I was young, my hair was black," she said wistfully.

"So the name," he said. "Do you miss your youth? Your black hair?" He asked, hearing many old people complaining about their lost youth.

She stared at him for more than a minute before answering, "I no longer miss materialistic things, Aeron. I crossed that bridge long ago. So long that I stopped counting the years I passed."

"You are older than I thought," he spluttered.

"Does age matter?" she asked, sitting on the wooden chair that should have been next to the bed.

He remained silent, digesting the information she gave. While she sat patiently, ready to answer all his questions.

The length of the shadows changed, from long, it became short.

"Past? Two types of Seers?" He shook his head. "I wonder whose work is difficult, the past or future."

The amusement dancing on her face died. "Both are tough, Aeron. While future Seers can see your future, we can see your past."

"But is not future more difficult the past?" he asked.

She glowered. "You are making the same mistake Demelza and Horacio made aeons ago! Just because one knows future does not mean he forgets the past. The Past defines you as much as you hate it, Aeron! I know your past. I saw the day I heard your name."

He stayed silent. Past was one of the many things he refused to confront.

"That is what I thought," she said, reigning her anger. "Future's price is uncertainty and past pays with pain. Aeons of knowledge. Millennia of memories. Uncountable years of experience and guidance. It is already said. Past is written. You cannot change it, as and when you will, but future is not like that. It is undefined. It can end from two seconds from now or two thousand years from now. It is yours; you hold the pen to your blank future. So think again, future or past?"

He lowered his head. He knew what he would choose, but the answer that left his mouth surprised him. "Present."

"Wise choice, Aeron," she said. "And I am here as Trystan and Amara have left for the rebellion meeting this week and Chavva left to meet her friend. They left me to take care of you."

"Trystan spoke to me before he left," Aeron said. "I could not respond."

"I know that." Raven tossed her white hair back and turned to leave. "I had to say. At least to gain some of your trust."

Before she could leave, he shouted, "Wait! Can you teach me what those colours mean?"

She laughed. "Why else am I here?"

She closed the door and walked away. Apart from the dying colours of the plants and the fire smouldering in his veins, he felt at peace. His wound no longer throbbed him. He no longer felt weak, but his mind was begging him to sleep. His physical body was healed; it was the turn for his soul to recover.

His dreams were filled with fire, the one element he feared. It gnawed his bones, burnt his flesh ate him part by part all the while drawing energy from him. He begged them to leave him alone, but being arrogant as they were, they stayed.

Next, he saw the sun shattering into a thousand pieces. Each fragment that touched the land destroyed its fertility. When it touched the water, it melted away. Before him, Ruthen was being destroyed and he could not do anything.

Guilt choked him. He knew he could have done something, yet he sat there watching the beauty behind the destruction.

Cool hands touched his shoulder and shook him. "Wake up, Aeron. Do not give into Darkness." Raven said.

He could not respond. An invisible thread tied him to the place. The sky was red, the clouds orange. Death and misery hung heavy in the air. The flesh of humans and animals charred alike. The plants had already drooped, accepting their defeat. He was the only survivor in the battleground. Nothing touched him. Darkness offered that power to him. He could be the ruler here. But what he would rule, he did not know.

"Wake up!" Raven shouted, but he cared less. The dream was pulling him to its core.

He gazed up. Smoke and dust were whirling in the air. But despite all that, an eagle flew with something held in its beak. His sight followed the bird. It landed in a place where vegetation was destroyed.

Up in the burning mountain, in the upper reaches, it stood proudly beside a nest. The corners of the nest were burning, but the eagle bent down and placed whatever it had in its beak.

Then he saw what was inside. Two tiny heads popped up when they saw their mother. They swatted each other's beak happily until their mother intervened.

She nudged at them. On her face, the epitome of peace was painted. She looked completely at ease. The ripping skies did not bother her as she waited for her young ones to eat. She shifted herself to protect her young. A picture that promised him life.

Was that what Light was trying to teach him? That hope lies even in the unlikeliest place.

"Wake up now!" Raven shouted. His eyes flew open and he gasped.

What had he seen? Why did he see it?

"Thank the Spirits you woke," she grumbled. "I cannot fathom what would have happened if I did not wake you up."

"I saw..." he started.

"Don't tell," she whispered. "It was for your eyes. It is your struggle. But from your aura, I can tell that you did not let anyone win."

He blinked. "What?"

"Happens almost to everyone chosen by the Fate." She explained, closing her eyes. "The battle between your Darkness and Light begins. Make sure to keep both at bay."

He nodded. "I don't think I can sleep again."

"I won't allow you to sleep again," she said. "Come out, you need to eat something that is not medicine."

He got up from the bed. Unlike the first time, he did not stumble. His hands finding something to hold on, he came out of the room. A corridor led to a bigger room. He braced on the walls for support and went forward. The corridor led to two other rooms. One looked like it was occupied; the other's door did not even budge.

One look at the occupied room, he knew where Trystan stayed. The bigger room turned out to be the dinning place and the hall. The dining place led to a cosy kitchen. The hallway continued the other side, where it housed another three rooms.

He sat on a chair near the dining table. The wooden furniture was sturdy.

"Here." Raven placed a plate before him. "Eat this."

In the plate, a thin layer something noodled and white was there. She had sprinkled sugar on top of it.

He looked at it and then at her.

"Yes. You must eat this." She sat opposite to him placing a glass of water next to his plate.

His fingers tore the thin dish and stuffed it into his mouth. Only sugar's sweetness was there, the dish as such had a placid taste.

Within seconds, he completed it and lifted his head to Raven.

"Enough for now," she said. "Take another one after an hour."

He nodded but his stomach growled. Controlling his appetite, he drank the water.

"How can you control your aura?" he asked.

"I lived long enough to know how to do it," she said. "Yours is a vibrant one. Always changing, always moving."

"What it like now?" he asked.

"Mostly garnet," she said. "Little of indigo for curiosity, some gold for trust and a little flint for fear. I can go on."

"The colours tell you emotions?" he questioned.

"Sometimes they also tell what others are thinking." She smiled and rubbed wrists. "This is a Seer's defence."

"Why did I get it then?"

"You died." She stated bluntly. "Going too Volney has some effects. I believe that this power is temporary. You have it until you learn how to master your power."

"Oh. What does silver mean?" he asked.

"These colours often have to be seen with others," she said. "Just silver can say it is hope, silver with gold can mean royalty. Silver with pink or red can mean love." She shrugged. "It depends, Aeron. It depends on others too."

He twisted the ring Keahi gave him. It weighed a tonne on his finger.

Raven saw the ring, but she did not comment.

"Do you know when Trystan will return?"

"I think it will take another week or two. I am not sure," she said, getting up. "The roads are blocked by landslides."

He hummed as she left to wash the dishes. He looked around. The house was quite clean.

"Aeron?" she called. "I will not give Falak to you unless you are fully healed. So give up searching that."

He scowled and put his head on the table.

**********

Days with Raven was quite interesting. She told him tales he had never heard. At times like that, she made him realise how much he missed his grandmother, if he had one. Nights was reserved for tales while in the mornings she made him do complex exercises that often left his mind screaming at him.

"I see no point in this," he groaned, frustrated with Raven. "I cannot do this anymore!"

"Yes, you can do this." Her voice had a soothing touch to it. "You are not putting your effort."

His mind thrashed breaking the mental constrains he built around. It was overwhelming for him. He tried to put those barriers back, but they simply snapped. The fire roared to life, suffocating him.

He tore the fabric of his thick top and threw it away. Sitting in the snow-covered backyard of the Healer's house, he sat there on his calf muscles and kept his fists over his knees.

The tree odd trees filled his vision. The snow continued falling, not bothering with the mortal affairs. Despite this cold, he sweated. When the fractals touched him, it steamed instantaneously. His hair had grown longer till his shoulder. He had to cut it.

"Are you not feeling the cold?" Raven asked, while she herself was wearing a thin gown.

"No," he said, trying to control the heat that was spreading.

"All immortals do not get affected by simple things." She sat next to him. "There are much more painful ways to kill us."

"All the more joy," he muttered, clenching his fists. No, he would not allow his powers to get the best of him.

"I can see your aura, Aeron," she sighed. "It is bleak and grey. Not to mention I feel that it is being..."

Before she could finish what she was about to say, his fingertips grew warmer and as though those embers held something against him, they burned him from inside.

As the sudden gust of opposite winds for traders in the sea, the fire managed to escape his hold and lingered in the air for a minute before he could tame them again. The snow above which the flames danced was no longer in their crystalline form.

"Suppressed," Raven finished in a soft tone. "Those flames were a beauty to behold, Aeron."

He grunted. Nevertheless, he agreed with her. The outer most layer of the flames had green, they slowly merged with yellow and then orange and finally to the red core. He felt he was watching one of the rare dusk the skies rarely showed him. The flames intensity was too much. Only because Raven was many feet away from him, she was unhurt.

He knew how callous and uncaring his element was. It did not care who it was or what it was; it just knew how to destroy.

He took deep breaths. His past experience was enough for him to think otherwise. He needed his friend now. Trystan would know what to do.

"Why do you hate your element?" she asked, her voice barely heard over the tearing winds.

He refused to see her face etched with concern. She asked the wrong question.

"Why do you fear your element?" she asked.

"You know why!" he screamed. "You have bloody seen my past."

"No, not everything," she said. "I try to give as much as freedom as you deserve."

"This is not working, Raven," he said, standing up. "I just cannot do this anymore."

"Aeron!" she cried. "You need this meditation more than anyone. If the Hunters track your exposed aura, then they will surely kill you."

"Then let them," he growled. "They cannot harm me."

"I know being an assassin might help you, but you need to master your mind and soul, make them work with your physical existence," she replied. "That is why you need this meditation."

"Five days passed," he said. "And still I cannot control the fire."

"You think magic is that easy to control?" she asked cynically. "It takes ages. It took me more than five decades to have control over my vision. They just kept appearing and disappearing that I no longer knew whether I was in past or present. It drew me over the edge. I tried to suicide, but the mortal weapons did not harm me."

He remained silent.

"So think again before you say you wanted to control your power within a week." With that, Raven turned to go inside. "Time is a medicine to your soul. Allow it to do its magic."

He nodded but he stayed behind. The snow managed to bring his body's temperature by few degrees. He wondered how the village he stayed was. Was it small and cosy, or developed and huge? Raven did not allow him out, fearing for his life.

The borders of Fangforn called out to him. He looked at the ripped shirt and sighed. The awakening did many things to his body as well. His muscles was able to withstand more stress than his previous mortal's body. It gifted him with sharp vision, clear hearing and perfect scenting nose. But the gifts came with a price. A price that was too high for him to pay.

The soft falling shower stopped, but he knew better. They reserved their snow for the night.

He just sat there pondering about his life, whether Trystan was fine or not and whether he would meet the person who saved him. So long that he did not realise that he caged the fire without an effort. It kindled within him, but it was quite harmless. Instead of raging as it was in the past few days, it gave him warmth and hope.

Being winter, the sun sunk behind the ranges of Varelene soon. Fireflies filled the night air and the plants gave their last white flowers, which would wither by the next night. Crickets happily chattered and jittered in the creeks away from anyone's eyes.

He got up and went inside.

Raven hummed in the kitchen. Dragging his feet, he sat on the chair and waited for his dinner.

She placed a bowel of thick hot soup before him. "Drink up!"

"I am sorry," he mumbled, looking at the orange liquid glistening by the lamp. "I should not have snapped at you, but I just could not help. I will try better tomorrow, Raven."

She caressed his forehead. "You are exerting too much, son. I understand. I should not have pushed you as well. Let's sleep it off, okay?"

He nodded and drank it. The flavour of tomato over powered everything. Pepper, salt and many spices were added that he could not place a finger on. The spices were blended so carefully and so masterfully.

"That is all for supper," she said. "The lesser you eat at night, the better."

He nodded and sat in the same place, something not allowing him to move. Raven cleaned up and left to sleep. He sat there watching the flickering flames. Something was wrong with him. He was silent and he was noticing things he normally wouldn't have. Perhaps he was getting the hang of immortality.

The winds shook mighty trees and quarrelled among themselves. The heavens thundered and laughed maniacally. A shiver ran down his spine. It was not a normal one. It was something his instincts was warning him.

The front door creaked as footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. A feminine figure came in, placed a soaking bag on the table on the corner of the hall, and hung her cloak on the stand. Her unique ash blonde hair was wet and her pinkish purple eyes was tired. He blew off the torch. His vision in the night was perfect. She had yet to notice him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"This is my house, Aeron," the woman said, her voice amused in spite of her fatigue. "I see you are well."

"How can you see me?" he asked.

"How can you see?" she counterattacked.

"I can..." he trailed off.

"Exactly," she smiled. "I am the Healer who lives here. Now that I see you, you are perfectly alright. At least physically."

He froze. "You are the Rafela who saved me." He croaked, "You are Chavva Asheren."

She chuckled.

How was the chapter? 

I liked knowing more about Raven. Do you want to know more about her? 

Do you think Aeron trusts Trystan too much? 

Leave your thoughts below!

Meet you all in the next update!

~Quill