Ashes to Ashes | ✓

3 || Cinere

"Master, what's it called when I can't read someone's expressions?" Felix stood stiff and tall, shoulders back while he waited for his master to look his way. He wrung the hem of his shirt between his hands, twisting it around his fingers.

The old man paused in his writing. His pen clicked against the table as he laid it down. When he turned, the candle's flame flickered, casting dancing shadows across his face. A smile crinkled the corners of his mouth as he reached down to ruffle Felix's hair, but as always, it didn't reach his eyes. His silver eyes remained cold and distant—empty almost.

"We call those blanks, Felix," he said. His voice was warm with patience, but something about its honeyed tone sent a shiver down Felix's spine. "Did you encounter a blank recently?"

"Aren't you a blank, master?" Felix squeezed the fabric in his fingers until he could have sworn the interwoven cotton would leave an imprint on his hands. "I can never properly read you. You just seem... unreal."

His master laughed. The boisterous sound echoed in the empty study, filling the wooden room with noise. When his laughter died down, he rose from his chair—slowly, like an old man. Although Felix had seen him work. Despite the wrinkles on his face and the gray beard on his chin, he moved fast and struck hard. Compared to him, Felix's attacks moved at the pace of a snail, and his cuts were jagged and crude.

He wasn't sure being twelve years old was an excuse for slowness when his master looked to be older than the invention of time.

"I suppose I am a blank," he said, snapping Felix's attention back to the present. "Someday, you'll be one too. It's better for our work if we are."

"Yes, I understand that," Felix replied. "But what do I do if I meet another blank? How do I read them? How do I know when and how to strike?"

His master paused for a moment in thought, his hand resting against the back of his chair. "It would be difficult to set up a scenario for yourself with a blank, but even a blank is not entirely unreadable. You can observe them and learn how they behave. Take your time, Felix. When you find the opportunity to strike, you—"

"Must not hesitate," Felix mumbled. "Yes, I know."

His master smiled again. "Very good."

Felix's eyes snapped open. Early morning sunlight streamed through the dense greenery of the forest around him. Birdsong filled the air, a stark contrast to the silence that lingered in his memories of his master's study. He sat up, dragging his fingers through his hair.

The dream slipped through his fingers until he was left with only a few small fragments. Was it a memory? Was it his own imagination? Maybe it came about from the stress that overwhelmed him the night before, dragging up his childish desire to speak to his master again. Master is dead, he reminded himself. He's gone on to someplace else and he'll never speak to you again.

He liked to think he had been left with all the information and training he needed. When things were normal, that seemed to be the case. In the face of a blank, however, he panicked. His master had been vague about blanks, and he never really disclosed how to interact with them—even outside of a job. It was so rare to meet one that perhaps he thought Felix never would.

For the time being, he pushed the blank woman out of his mind. He could only hope he wouldn't run into her again, and if he did, that she wouldn't get in his way.

Rising to his feet and brushing grass and dirt from his clothes, he made his way toward the stream. The water was cool against his fingers. He splashed some against his face to rid himself of any remaining threads of sleep.