The Song of the Lost

The Empath

Snowflakes fell from the sky, slicing into his skin upon contact. They stung as if they were real wounds, yet when Alaric looked closely, he realized it was ash, staining his skin gray. Rain began to fall in sheets, water rising till it flooded his nose, mouth, and lungs. Only bubbles came out when he tried to call for help, and gray petals swirled around him, covering his cuts. The petals reddened and burned his skin as they contoured to his body, and Alaric spotted silver jacks out of the corner of his eye, sparkling in the fractured light. Pressure built in his chest as he struggled to break to the surface, reaching out a hand to save himself. He grasped a rose above him, but thorns stabbed his hand, and he let go, drifting down into the black void.

" . . . really think that . . . get back home . . . if the general consensus is . . ."

Alaric opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut as stars exploded behind his eyes. "Drakan?"

He slowly tried to open his eyes again and saw Drakan perched on a chair next to him.

"You're awake."

Alaric pushed himself up, noting the bed he was lying on. It had navy covers and white linen sheets, smelling like honey and grapes. "Where . . .?"

"You're in our room," Zara responded, appearing beside him. "Demian's to be precise."

"I see," Alaric responded, calming his startled heartbeat. "May I ask why?"

"You passed out," Demian replied, trailing behind Zara. His face did not betray anything, but his aura pulsed a soft yellow. Concern.

Alaric winced against the sudden barrage of memories. Right. He had experienced Demian's emotions when he touched him. Alaric was an Aural Empath with the power to distinguish a person's feelings through the aura that they emitted. However, for their aura to reveal itself to him, Alaric needed first to make physical contact. With the first interaction, he received a general view of the emotions they had ever experienced and their mental state, normally in the form of a metaphorical vision. It was harder for him to touch older people due to the sheer amount of emotions they had experienced and the memories they created. Nevertheless, he had never experienced such a vivid and painful overview before, and he rubbed his arms, still feeling a stinging sensation, though his arms were unharmed.

"Are you cold?" Demian asked. A slate gray cloud hovered above him, wisps of guilt encircling his body. Like the fog.

Alaric shook his head. "I am not. Why did you take me here and not my room?"

"It was closer," Drakan replied. Alaric opened his mouth to protest, and Drakan tapped his ear.

"I see," Alaric responded, chiding himself for forgetting. "Am I to be sleeping here?"

Drakan nodded. "That is the plan, yes. Demian and Zara can take the other room, and I will return to my chambers. I have some stuff I need to take care of."

Alaric frowned at his receding back. "But that is quite improper if you are unmarried. Demian can sleep here and I will return to my room."

Demian pushed him down before he could get out. "Then we can both sleep here. You are right, it is improper for Zara and I to share a room."

A small rainstorm formed above him, the raindrops fizzling in a red mist before reaching his skin.

Alaric opened his mouth to argue and fought a wave of dizziness. "All right."

"Good night!" Zara called.

"Likewise," Alaric responded.

Demian nodded in farewell, and she departed through the adjoining door, closing the lights.