Starborn Legacy (A Starborn Series prequel)

Chapter eight

Audrey sat on the forest floor with her hands hovering over a small pile of twigs and sticks. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she was trying hard to ignore the sweat that beaded on her forehead and slid down her temples.

"Don't forget to breathe, Audrey," Welkin said softly. "Your face is turning an alarming shade of red."

"I am breathing," Audrey huffed, though she took a subtle pull of air in through her nose anyway.

Even with her eyes closed, she could tell that the sun had set. The night air hung around her, cool and damp, and goosebumps crawled across her skin. An involuntary shiver rattled her from the inside out.

"What are you feeling?" Welkin asked with far more patience than Audrey deserved. For more than an hour she'd been trying, and failing, to follow their guidance. Again she gritted her teeth and scanned her thoughts and body, searching for an inkling of the power that fell a tree and set paper aflame. Audrey knew it was in there somewhere, but she just couldn't seem to find it.

"Cold," she admitted bitterly, "and hungry." With a frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands into her lap and opened her eyes. "Why can't I do this?"

From across the cold fire pit, Welkin smiled kindly. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Learning to control the energies around you is no small task. I don't expect you to master it overnight."

"But I've done it before! And those times I wasn't even trying!"

"Exactly," Welkin said, as if that settled anything. They held their hands over the small pile of wood. A spark flashed in the space between and bit into the kindling like a viper. Within seconds a proper campfire was crackling away, warming Audrey's skin but cooling her heart. She deflated into a defeated slouch as Welkin circled the fire and settled down again beside her. "It's alright, daughter. We'll try again tomorrow."

Audrey sat back on her hands and stared into the flames. She knew they were right—that learning to do anything well required time and practice—but that didn't make this failure any less demoralizing. Plus there was the haunting specter of potential danger to contend with; the knowing that she could cause real damage without even meaning to.

"What are you thinking about?" Welkin asked, breaking up her private self-pity party. She blinked a few times to bring herself back to the moment, and considered how best to answer.

"I'm thinking about what will happen to me if I can't figure this out," Audrey answered honestly. She sat up and brushed the dirt and pine needles off her palms. Her hands looked so normal. Was it really possible for her to use such unremarkable tools to manipulate the world around her? "Will I have to spend the rest of my life living alone in the woods because I might accidentally hurt someone? Like, is this all I am now?"

Welkin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's rather bleak, don't you think?"

"I know, but..." Audrey hesitated. Even if she could figure out how to describe what she was feeling, she wondered if it was possible for Welkin to understand. They were an immortal creature with an important purpose — their existence meant something. Did they have any idea what it was like to feel so incredibly small? "Nevermind. I'm just being dramatic, I guess."

With a click of their tongue, Welkin stared her down. "Well, to answer your question: no — you won't have to spend the rest of your life as a hermit, even if you never learn how to manage your abilities. Though, I think you're getting ahead of yourself."

Audrey picked at the seam of her jeans to avoid looking at them. She thought that if Welkin looked into her eyes, they'd be able to see just how vulnerable she felt. "What's the point?"