The Battle of Shadows and Hearts

-Ardan-

I felt the sting where one of my brothers had touched me, using his powers on me. They found it amusing how slow I was and how slow my body was. Even their powers could hurt me still, indicating I was without any myself.

I gazed out at the many families gathered, playing around while remaining alone with the sting on my arm. I twisted the burned flesh, the dark clothes had been burned as well.

“That looks painful,” a voice said.

My head whipped around, staring up at a young girl. Instantly, I knew she was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid my eyes on, and my father had shown me an ice hound from the far northern lands—a rare species. But so was she.

Her smile seemed to light up the already sun-filled day, and I was rendered completely immobilized by her presence. She looked nervous as she pushed back a long strand of dark brown hair.

“Does it hurt?” she questioned.

I had no voice, so I shook my head.

“Hmm, I would have cried,” she admitted, coming closer, her dark-red gown flowing around her. “You must be strong. You haven’t shed a tear.”

I enjoyed hearing her call me strong. Everyone else perceived me as weak.

“But, despite your strength, would you let me help you?” she asked.

“Help me?” I questioned.

She knelt beside me, surprising me with how close she came. She reached out, her delicate fingers wrapping around my forearm. I flinched a little, unable to suppress the pain.

Then she shocked me, as I felt a cooling sensation sweep through me. When she removed her hand, there was no burning sensation or mark. I stared at it before turning to the young girl.

She had to be a few years younger than me, yet she already showed healing powers. Before I could speak, she plucked a flower that had yet to blossom.

As she held it in her hand, it began blooming. With a flustered look on her face, she handed the flower to me. It was a tiny daisy.

“Flowers always make me feel better. My mother taught me they bring happiness,” she explained.

The little witch beside me still held the flower, and I carefully reached out to take it, our fingers grazing each other’s for a moment.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I’m Calina.”

“Ardan.”

“Calina!” an older woman called out to the girl beside me, standing below the small hill we were sitting on.

Calina’s eyes swept toward me, looking a bit fearful.

“Coming, Mother!” she answered.

After giving me another small smile, the young girl got on her feet and ran down the hill, looking like someone out of a dream. I had never felt this way before—so light and warm. What was this strange feeling in my heart? And why did it seem to turn sour as she walked away?