The Water Witcher (Completed)

Chapter 1 - One Door Closes

       Out of all the lessons Corbin's grandfather taught him, the one he didn't quite understand was how dangerous the world could be for a Water Witcher during a time of thirst. But soon, he would.

In the meadow, sat four engraved headstones nestled between wildflowers as Corbin stood over his grandfather's grave with hands clasped in front of him. It was his daily ritual of paying respects, but above him, a scatter of birds disrupted the peace while taking flight from a tree branch. Silver clouds expanded the sky with an earthy scent clinging to the humidity—a sign that rain was coming.

Thankfully, his grandfather's resting place was under the shade and protection of a large cypress tree, where daisies grew like a blanket across the dirt. It was perfect for him, but the hissing of insects and the dribble of sweat rolling down his temple made him blow out a long breath.

"I'm heading in, Old Man," he murmured and headed back to the small home he once shared with his grandfather.

However, when he entered, he could practically hear the echo of everyone that used to live in it.

As he fixed dinner, he glanced at the kitchen window while sharpening his knife, the sound filling the quiet until a thunder crash shook the windows. A streak of lightning zipped across the sky, causing his eyes to widen. It had been at least a year since the last time it rained.

"Are you sending me a sign, old man?" His eyes shifted to the mound of daisies under the cypress tree swaying in the wind. "I knew if I told you I wanted to leave, you'd figure out how to keep me here."

Another crash rattled the windows, slamming sheets of rain onto the roof. He set the knife and sharpener aside and headed for the front door to stick his hand out. The big, frigid drops slipped between his fingers—a sensation so foreign he closed his eyes for a moment and listened to it, pelting the metal water barrels in the yard. As he inhaled a deep breath, his nostrils flared, vacuuming aroma of wet dirt while steam rose from the hot earth. Taking a chance, he stepped onto the brown, patchy grass and stared up at the sky.

"You will not scare me into staying, old man! I've made my choice."

A kaboom of bright white light filled the sky, sending him staggering backward until reaching the protection of the porch. As he stood there shivering with rain dripping from his hair, he gazed at the wild rabbits scampering across the yard in a frenzy, their tiny feet creating mini splashes while seeking shelter. They would keep his grandfather company.

The rain only lasted ten minutes before the clouds dissolved, and the sun returned.

When Corbin finished cooking, he sat at the small dining table with the trickle of sunset filtering through the windows and its warmth, keeping him company. While cutting into the potatoes on his plate, he glanced at the fireplace off to the side. If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could still picture his mother there, holding her hands out while warming them. He could also see his father in the worn, wingback chair, lazily puffing on a tobacco pipe while turning the pages of a book.

Except those memories stopped forming when his parents died in a car crash on a foggy morning trip into town. Over the years, their faces became just as cloudy as the fog that took them. It was the same with his little brother, who died in his crib in the night, but his grandfather was still vivid, despite being dead for five years.

As Corbin stared across the table where the old man used to sit, he could see his deep-set blue eyes crowned by bushy brows, and the thick mustache he used to twist. He could see the strong shoulders that hunched around his neck while he ate with elbows on the table. The only thing fading was his voice, and the home was too quiet without it.