Jethran moved through a world of lilac and gray, a ghost in a fog. The frantic terror that had propelled him from the city was gone.
The mist gave him a sense of quiet he now carried within. Any moment where the thoughts of pain and fear creeped back into him, he exhaled the mist and breathed it back in. Each time, it masked the control his past held over him.
He was simply moving, his steps aimless, his mind a untroubled expanse. The colors on his hands and cheeks still glowed, but their light was softened by the haze. Curiosity over their meaning and origin lost to the gentle numbness.
He was hungry, cold, and alone; these were distant, observable facts. They were stones at the bottom of a deep, still pond, unable to ripple the surface of his calm. Through the haze, he noticed a change in the world, not just that of the forest with the lilac trees or the blue flowers growing from the gray grass. But he saw that two peaks of Seven High Reach had been altered. Those same colors that now stained his body had covered them.
Vibrant cobalt had replaced the stale steel color of the smallest peak and a deep indigo covered the second largest. It was shocking to see. He knew this was being seen all over the kingdom.
The fear of that thought made him exhale another cloud of the mist and then inhale it directly back in. This action instantly replaced that fear with the numbness he learned from Muralis.
"Too bad this stupid Flaw didn't feel this way before," he whispered with a detached tone. "Life would have been so much better."
For three days, time bled in upon itself. He walked, he slept when exhaustion claimed him, and he drank from gray streams. The purpose of his journey had faded completely. The memory of his mother’s face was a distant portrait, the ache of leaving her a forgotten song. There was only the mist, and the quiet, seductive pull to keep breathing it in, to let the world and its cruel edges drift away. He was no longer hunted or violated. He was simply a shell, safe in his numbness.
But on day three, something changed. He had just breathed in the mist, and as the comforting numbness settled over him, it felt... wrong. The silence was no longer a shield; it was a cage. He was walking, but he felt no connection to the lilac ground beneath his feet. He ate, but the hunger remained, a hollow ache that no amount of food could fill. He was protected from his pain, but he was also severed from himself. He was weary of the silence. He was tired of being a ghost.
Upon remembering the warning that Muralis had given him, he stopped at the crest of a low hill. He let the mist fade, resolving not to call it again. And the world, as if it had been waiting for him, rushed back in with a vengeance. The memories flooded him. The forced medication, the tavern, the deafening of the BAPs. The full weight of his mother’s fear and his desperate escape, all of it crashed down on him.
The world answered his pain. The sky, which had been a quiet slate, began to change. The clouds darkened, churning from gray to an angry charcoal. A low rumble of thunder echoed across the hills. The sound seemed to vibrate deep in Jethran’s chest. The wind picked up in a sudden gale, tearing at his tunic. It howled a more frightening sound than the silence of the mist. Rain began to fall. It was a cold, driving assault.
The drops were huge and heavy, stinging his skin, turning the lilac soil into a slick, treacherous mud. He was exposed. He was vulnerable. He needed shelter.
He scrambled down the hill, his boots sliding in the mud, the wind shrieking in his ears. He ran, blinded by the rain. He was cold and wet, but even more so, he was terrified. The storm was a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside him.
It was chaos. It was relentless. It was everywhere.
He stumbled through a curtain of gray moss, his foot catching on a root, and he fell into the dark, gaping mouth of a cave.
Jethran collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his body shaking uncontrollably. He huddled just inside the entrance, watching the storm rage. The wind shrieked, and the rain fell in solid, gray sheets, turning the forest into a watery chaos. The cave was dark, smelling of damp minerals, old roots, and a musky scent he couldn't place.
He was freezing, his wet tunic clinging to his skin. He needed fire. He crawled deeper into the cave, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. He found a small pile of dry leaves and twigs in a back corner, likely dragged in by some animal. He gathered them into a small pile. He struck two stones together. A small spark. He tried again. Nothing.
The rain, driven by the wind, was sending a fine spray into the mouth of the cave, and everything felt damp. His hands were numb, shaking so hard from the cold and the adrenaline that he couldn't get a proper strike.
He cried out, a raw sound that was swallowed from the raging of the storm. He was helpless. Tears of pure despair, the first he had allowed himself to shed, streamed down his face. He wrapped his arms around himself, huddling against the wall, the cold seeping into his bones. Letting go of the Mist meant that he was forced to feel everything.
The guilt he felt over having been so angry towards his mother for not helping him. Every torment, every shame, every moment of powerlessness, flooded the forefront of his mind. Then he thought of the beings in the forest. Crezwil. Muralis.
"Did that really happen?" He said to himself, "I must have gone crazy. Maybe it was those pills."
The realization was like steel cooling in his mind. He believed he had finally found the answer to what was plaguing him.
"For sevens sakes." He laughed lightly. "They gave me that stupid gray pill and then I ran off like an idiot. Thinking that I was turning things blue and purple. And then I started seeing lullabies talking to me."
The relief he found in this moment allowed him to finally rest his panic
He thought about going back. He could face the punishment, whatever it was. Maybe he could even get answers. At least then it would be over. At least then he wouldn’t be alone in the dark, cold and terrified. Finally, utterly spent, he let the overwhelming exhaustion claim him. He slumped against the stone wall and succumbed to a dreamless sleep.
***
As the light of the sun began to make its way into the cave the next morning, he awoke. He noticed warmth. A strange warmth that seemed to radiate from just a few feet away. He smelled something he hadn't smelled before. It was a musky scent, like hot breath.
"I seriously miss my toothbrush," he whispered as he opened his eyes.
That's when he saw it. He was not alone. Five feet away, curled into a massive ball, was a great beast. Its fur was the color of dusty graphite that lightened to a pale ash on its throat and belly. A ropy tail was draped over its powerful haunches. It let out a low sound. It was a contented purr that vibrated the space of the small cave.
A mountain lion.
Jethran’s blood turned to ice. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t move. He watched, his heart frantic, as the beast’s flank rose and fell with each slow breath.
Then, his fear magnified.
Tucked against the lion’s pale belly, almost hidden in the thick fur, were three spotted graphite bundles, no bigger than his satchel. Cubs. It was a mother lion.
The realization was a sharper terror. He was trapped. He was going to die. He was going to be torn apart, and no one would ever know what happened to him.
An involuntary gasp escaped his lips. The purring stopped. The lion was awake.
In one fluid motion, she was on her feet, her body low to the ground, her gaze fixed on him. Her eyes narrowed into slits of pure, focused predator. A guttural chuff rumbled from her chest, a sound that vibrated with deadly warning. She took a step closer, sniffing the air, her head lowered. She saw him huddled against her wall, and her only instinct was the protection of her young.
Jethran scrambled back, his hands sliding against the cold stone, his mind blank with a terror so profound it had no voice. The lioness lowered her head further, her muscles coiling, and opened her mouth. A deep, chest-rattling growl filled the small cave. This was it.
He threw his hands up in a desperate instinct to shield his face, his palms facing the beast. He felt it before he saw it. A sudden warmth bleeding from his hands. He felt the tingling coolness of his flaw flare with a brilliant intensity. A deep, indigo light, the color of Crezwil’s being, pulsed from him. It was a soft, enveloping wave, a silent song that washed over the lioness.
The growl stopped, cut off with a sound of confusion. She stilled herself, her body coiled to spring, but she cocked her massive head to one side. Her eyes softened, the predatory focus dissolving into something else. Curiosity. She took another step, but it was longer a stalking. She sniffed the air. She sniffed the light. She sniffed Jethran.
The indigo light from his Blush continued to pulse, washing over her, and her posture changed completely. Her muscles uncoiled. Her ears, which had been pinned back, flickered and came forward. She let out a soft sound, a low murr in the back of her throat, and took a final step, lowering her head. She nudged his knee with her nose.
Jethran was frozen, his mind unable to process the shift. He was still braced for the attack, for the pain, for the end. But it didn't come.
The lioness nudged him again, harder this time, and then rubbed the entire side of her massive head against his chest, her purr restarting, now a rumbling engine of affection. He slowly, his hand shaking so violently he could barely control it, lowered his arm and touched the top of her head. Her fur was thick and surprisingly soft. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes in contentment.
Then, she licked him. Her lavender-hued tongue was rough as a face full of river gravel. It started at his jaw and dragged all the way up to his temple. It was an all-encompassing kiss.
“Thank you,” Jethran chuckled, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest. “That’s… an excruciating kiss. But... it’s better than being breakfast.”
The lioness, having decided he was now part of her den, flopped onto her side with a heavy sigh, exposing her pale ash belly. She looked at him with an expectant expression. Jethran stared. He blinked as he realized what it was that she was inviting.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he breathed. He looked at the three sleeping cubs, then back at the mother, who let out an impatient mrrow.
He slowly reached out his hand and placed it on her soft belly fur. He gave a tentative scratch. The lion’s purr instantly doubled in volume.
“I’m petting a mountain lion,” Jethran murmured to himself. “I’m massaging her belly, and in a minute, I'm going to be inside of it.”
He rubbed for another ten seconds. The purring was a vibration that seemed to settle his bones. The lioness huffed, a warm sigh, and settled her massive head in his lap. She was a weight of impossible trust. Jethran let out a shaky, half-hysterical laugh, his terror and wonder finally breaking free.
He sat there for a long time. The lioness settled at his feet, her warmth seeping into his legs, the sound of her purring a strange, comforting bass note in the quiet cave. He looked down at his hands.
The blue... he thought, his mind racing, connecting the pieces. The cobalt mist. Muralis said it was the color of silence, numbness. It made the BAPs deaf.
And the purple... He looked at the massive, purring beast at his feet. Crezwil. They said it was the color of a story, of a wound that refused to die... of love.
He looked at his palms, at the swirling patterns of his Blush. He held it up, and the faint light that emanated from him cast a tiny light on the dark stone wall opposite him.
The lioness’s head snapped up. Her purr cut off. Her pewter eyes fixed on the patch of moving light.
Jethran, seeing her focus, moved his hand slightly. The patch of light danced on the wall. The lioness’s entire body tensed, her tail giving a slow twitch. She was a huntress again. He moved his hand again, wiggling his fingers. The reflection skittered across the stone. The lioness crouched, her body low, and with a powerful spring, she pounced at the wall, her paws hitting the stone with a soft thump.
Jethran froze, then an incredulous smile spread across his face. He moved his hand again, dragging the patch of light across the floor. The lioness bounded after it, skidding on the stone, her dignity forgotten in the thrill of the hunt. He let out a small nervous laugh that ended in a snort. He moved the light again, leading her on a chase around the small cave, her movements a blur of graphite fur and focused energy.
Finally, he swept the reflection deep into the back of the cave. He then closed his hand making the tiny indigo light seem to disappear behind a large boulder. The lioness bounded after it, sniffing and scratching at the rock, utterly convinced her prey was hiding just beyond her reach.
This was his chance. Slowly, silently, Jethran got to his feet. He eased his satchel onto his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the distracted lioness. He took one step back, then another. He reached the mouth of the cave, the storm-washed light of the world on his back. He gave one last look at the magnificent beast, still sniffing furiously at a patch of stone.
Jethran ran.
He didn't stop until the cave was far behind him. He finally collapsed against a lilac tree, panting, the adrenaline fading, leaving him shaky but miraculously alive. He looked down at his hands. The cobalt had brought silence. The indigo had brought love.
His Flaw, the Blush he had been taught to hate, the curse that had defined his entire existence, had just saved his life. He had power. He had no idea what it all meant, but in that moment, leaning against a tree in a world that slowly was changing right along with him, Jethran Frye began to understand that maybe he was not a Flaw at all. He was something else entirely.
He whispered into the air the only question that burned within him, "How can this be real?"