Time Lapse

Chapter 12 ~Rime Estate~

In the early morning light, sunbeams filtered through the shattered windows and decayed walls of the desolate church, casting a muted glow upon the scene. Atlas is sleeping in the tattered church rug, oblivious to the world. Three ethereal sprites hovered above him, their soft glow illuminating his serene, tired expression. With each breath he took, the sprites danced gently in the air; their movements synchronized with his rhythmic inhales and exhales.

Suddenly, a tickling sensation stirred in Atlas's nostrils, causing him to startle awake with a violent sneeze. The church shook, and the startled sprites darted away, disappearing into the rafters above.

"Sorry about that," Atlas mumbled groggily, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion from the previous night's unexpected skirmish.

Unsurprisingly, he felt drained; any ordinary person or fey would succumb to the wounds inflicted upon them. But all that remained was pale skin where his cuts were. They should've been lacerations.

Until his skin tanned evenly with the rest of his body, and no real wounds were left from last night-just the post-sickness of using too much magic.

"But hey, my new trick finally worked!" Atlas exclaimed into the empty church, his voice echoing off the worn walls.

The sprites, hovering nearby, seemed to listen intently before descending to join him. "It's time to part ways," he shifted his attention. "I need to keep moving," addressing the childish creatures.

With a determined stride, Atlas left the church, pushing his trusty red wagon in the direction he traveled from. Unbeknownst to him, three flickering lights - red, pink, and orange - trailed behind at a discreet distance. As the day wore on, Atlas pressed on without pause, his hands calloused but resolute.

The sprites took turns perching on the back of the cart, silently observing the teen's unwavering determination.

As the day wore on, Atlas pressed forward without pause, his motivation steadfast despite the strain on his weary muscles. The sprites, now nestled among the bundles of flowers, drifted into slumber, their tiny forms barely visible against their bed of colorful petals.

With the fading light on the setting sun, Atlas halted the cart and carefully sifted through the flowers. Though he couldn't see the sprites with his eyes, he could sense their comforting presence, their ethereal glow a constant companion throughout the day.

Raising his index finger, Atlas focused light on the tip of his finger toward the sleeping creatures. Slowly looming a minuscule ball of white light back and forth over their heads, he put them into a deep sleep. It helped the boy feel better, taking care of someone else in only a way he could, helping the beings only he could see.

A cloaked man walked by, waving to Atlas and calling, "Hey, Flower-Man!"

Locals knew Atlas as "The Flower-Man," a title coined by one of his usual passersby during his regular routine. Most rumors mentioned an older man who roamed the area, talking to nobody in sight.

Atlas ignored the nickname but failed to ignore the mistaken fact that he was an "old man."

He made a note to avoid his reflection out of a lack of interest and fear. Would he see what his parents hated? Would he know what Minos saw through his eyes before he died?

Atlas wondered how he looked and if his eyes were as scary as he had heard. Would he see his past if he looked at himself? Or were the rules different for people? The idea of seeing a person's life in a few blinks was terrifyingly powerful to Atlas. It holds too much power.

Doubtful thoughts paraded Atlas's mind, but he soon distracted himself with the people and places around him. Distracting himself from the past and invisible creatures only he could see. It was his private world, the only world where he felt normal among the various creatures.