AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did he speak to you?” Kingston asked in wonder, realizing what had happened, and I shrugged.
“Not fully, but Dragon thoughts kind of transform in my mind so I know what they want to say. It’s the first time he’s communicated, though,” I explained, watching Aeramen’s nose come close to Dad’s face, as if to smell him.
He squeaked again… and then swiped a hand at the painting.
“No!” My shout came too late. Aeramen’s claws sliced through the canvas with his swipe, and he jumped back, scared by my reaction.
Evie’s gasp echoed in the hall, reinforcing the dread tightening my gut.
“I feel him, like I feel you…”Aeramen squeaked.
“No…” I whispered, touching the tattered pieces of the canvas. “You can’t feel him. He’s not really here.”
Scorching ache surged through me once I saw the last image left of Dad torn before me. It was stupid, really. It was just a painting, but part of me felt like I had lost him all over again, when I had just found him.
I knew the baby Dragon hadn’t meant to destroy it; he was just a youngling. He was still learning, but it hurt me, nonetheless.
A broken breath left me just as Aeramen climbed onto my back again, hiding his face on my neck as his wings cradled me. He felt bad for what he had done. My eyes fell closed, and I recreated the image of Dad as the Harbinger in my mind. I wished I could have seen his portrait when it was new and fresh. In its full glory, and not tattered like it was now, but wishes never really got us what we wanted, did they?
Focusing on him, I glanced into his green eyes one last time, his full face forming in my imagination until I was staring at the full image of my young father.
“I’m sorry, Brax. Perhaps we can find someone to sew it together.”
“Sure. That would be nice,” I answered Evie although I knew it would never be the same. The ache in my being intensified until it felt like it was burning my insides. “Thank you. I would—”
The golden glow embraced my vision out of nowhere, cutting off my words. It wasn’t the first time my eye glowed, but what I could only describe as a bomb of pure energy burst in my core, coursing along my arms until it settled on my hands. My gaze snapped to the painting just as threads of golden light sprouted from my fingertips.
Gasps echoed beside me as the tendrils of light flickered and began extending onto the canvas, briefly illuminating it. Startled, I pulled my hands back, my chest harshly rising and falling from the shock.
“What was that?!” Evie sounded as flabbergasted as I felt.
What the hell was happening to me now?
“Devenish magic,” Kingston answered, half stunned, half awed.
“My family’s magic?” I mumbled, remembering my mother’s words. I carried supreme Wizard magic inside me. Power gifted to us bythe Celestials, and from what I had just felt, it seemed to have finally awoken within me.
“Do it again,” the chief ordered, taking my wrists, and bringing them closer to the portrait.
With a settling breath, I spread my fingers, and planted both hands on the canvas.
Nothing happened.
“What were you thinking about before?” Evie asked, making me look inwards.
“How much I wished his portrait was complete, and not destroyed,” I confessed. “I imagined it whole.”
“Then do it again.”
Shaking my arms to loosen the growing tension, I placed both palms back on the painting and focused of what I truly wanted, envisioning the imposing presence of the Harbinger of Justice. Soon, the burning chords of energy unleashed from my core, responding to my heart’s desire, and extending along my arms on their way to my hands.
Evie’s gasp forced me to open my eyes.
Golden threads of energy sprouted from my fingertips once more, their light illuminating the portrait as it rushed over it, swiftly tracing the silhouette of my father. My magic glimmered while gathering over each tear it found, recreating strands once torn apart and pulling the tattered canvas back together.
My magic…
Thin golden lines dashed over every inch of the picture, their strength restoring it until the Harbinger stared back at me in his full glory… A force to be reckoned with. Courageous, dauntingly fearless, and thirsty for justice, as he was always meant to be remembered.
