Soul Stone

A Rocky Road

"No."

Sara Castle liked to think she was a reasonable person, but occasionally, dealing with her fellow Soul Stone users made her want to rip her own hair out. "I'm telling you!" she persisted "This guy is different than the rest of us!"

"When I said I was done teaching, I meant it" the older man replied, with a shake of his head.

The man's assumed name was Donovan Reilly, and he worked as a Janitor at Hansen Academy. She wasn't completely sure if it was his real name, though she doubted it, but he was best known as "Sweeper", a man who had been in possession of a Soul Stone longer than he cared to remember, and was more than capable of teaching anyone he felt like teaching a great deal of information in a relatively short amount of time.

"He'll be killed if he doesn't learn!" Sara exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"He doesn't HAVE to keep his Soul Stone, you know" Sweeper reminded her "He could always give it u and go back to living normally."

"If you could understand why he's so different, you'd know why that's not possible."

That statement caught Sweeper's attention.

"What exactly makes this kid so special?" Sweeper asked, figuring listening to her would persuade her to shut up and leave him alone.

"Well, I can't see where you keep your Soul Stone, and you can't see min either, right?" Sara asked.

Sweeper nodded, raising an eyebrow. "You telling me this kid has x-ray vision?" He asked, clearly still uninterested.

"No, but somehow, he can tell where people have their stones. I kind of thought he was making it up when he told me, but I've seen him do it enough times now to make me think this is legit" Sara explained "and to me, it seems like the more soul stones are in a room, whether he has them or not, the stronger he gets."

"So, you're telling me you've basically found a human soul stone?" Sweeper asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Seems like it, I guess" Sara replied "Though I've never really thought of it that way."

"How did you find him, exactly?" Sweeper asked, confused.

"Because his Warrior Stone corresponds with my Sage Stone" she explained.

"Then he's your problem, not mine."

"Aren't you even the least bit intrigued?" Sara pressed on, hopefully.

"Not in the slightest. Now go back to your dorm, it's well past lights out." Sweeper ordered, brushing past her as he left his office to go take care of some spill, somewhere. She flopped back down into his office chair, and groaned softly. She would never have survived as long as she had at that this school without Sweeper's guidance. He was almost like a father to her, and she knew the only way Zeke had any chance of surviving the coming weeks was if Sweeper would agree to give him a crash course on how to use his soul stone effectively.

The facts were that the people who'd attacked them before would only be held up for a week or two before they recovered, and even that didn't mean they were guaranteed two weeks without being attacked. Even though Sara had went through her time as a Soul Stone owner being very careful not to ever confuse a Soul Stone user with a genuine weapon, it was difficult not to almost see Zeke as a cannon that just wasn't put together yet. A cannon that could potentially be taken out of commission if it wasn't fixed in a timely manner. She rubbed the sleepiness out of her eyes, and got out of the chair. It was well past the time when she generally would've retired for the night, and as far as she was concerned, it was about time to head back to her room. She used her key to lock the door behind her, and began the short trek back to her dorm. Thankfully, the night was quiet. No explosions and no gigantic suits of Armour coming to end her life, thus far. It was a true testament to her tolerance that she didn't find it odd how such things were her chief concern in life. Crickets chirped lightly, providing some background music for her journey. Normally, she hated the sound of crickets, but today she was thankful to be alive to hear it. The next time she looked up, she saw a solitary figure approaching from a distance, and the breath caught up in her throat. It didn't look big enough to be a suit of armor, and its walk lacked the urgency of a hired gun. She relaxed when she saw that it was just Mr. MacArthur, a sandy-haired, blue-eyed science teacher who couldn't have been much over 30.