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Chapter Seven
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COLORS. OR RATHER JUST one color, actually. That was what a soul seer's vision would always be rooted in. One color, just a single shade that could be any of the hundreds known to man or even one that Pantone had yet to discover.
One color.
It was always like that...except for the time Zari wrapped her fingers around a bloodstained rock, and a vision like no other had consumed her.
Instead of seeing in colors, she saw nothing.
A vision drowning in darkness, just one endless void where color didn't exist, and the only sign of life had been the painfully familiar timbre of her Master's low, velvety voice.
NEVER.
And that had been it.
One word, just one word, and Zari would've fallen to the ground if not for Mihail catching her in his arms. "What is it, Lady Zari?"
She tried to speak but found it impossible. She was too angry, too frustrated, too consumed with the need to see her Master so she could yell at his broodingly beautiful face.
Seriously, Master?
SERIOUSLY?
He finally found a chance to send them a message, probably risked his life nearly bleeding to death, and instead of showing them how to rescue him, her Master had instead given them one damn word.
Not a sentence or a phrase, not even two words, but one.
Just one word that couldn't save his life, one word that no one else would understand—-
Except for her.
Because that one word was to answer the question she had asked one stormy, drunken night.
Will you hate me, Master...if being strong means that you might have to die for me?