Wishmaker Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Read chapter 10 of Wishmaker by Larch on NovelPedia.

"Hey, Sunday." "Hm?" As the man was cleaning up Val's empty dishes, the boy spoke up, surprising even him, who didn't expect Valentine to be awake so early in the morning. He glanced down at the boy, his gaze absent. Sunday, as quiet as always, put down the empty bowl and glass back on the nighstand, sitting down on his tiny stool that seemed to be suffering with his every visit. "What?" "Can I ask you something?" The man sent him a light smile. "Yes, you don't have to ask me every time." "Okay..." Valentine nodded to himself, looking at the man's hands. They were clean and void of any injuries except for the pale tan he started developing after beggining Val's treatment. There were no signs of being burnt by the scorching flames; only the slightly burnt hairs on the ends of his forearms were reminding him of the wondrous ritual. His eyes fell on something smaller, less impressive. It was his own hand that Sunday created. Being two to three times smaller than the giants, of course, he thought of it as something... meager. Spending time under his care, he thought of himself as a nuisance, someone who takes up space without doing anything in return. Honestly, he wasn't the kind of person to do that in the first place, only recently being in a situation where he couldn't do anything on his own. Sunday, noticing the boy's intense stare, chuckled, his voice turning brighter. "You want to know how it was created?" Val's eyes widened briefly before shrinking back and looking at the wooden ceiling. I guess I can't hide it well. He did want to ask him about it after seeing what happened with the strange book; his already overflowing curiosity burst out the moment he recited that book's cover aloud. Sunday could always use the strange flame and restore his body piece by piece, but him? He didn't know if it were possible to do anything like that. At least not until he recited those strange words. It felt like... A sensation he had never experienced before in his life. Something no human could express under any normal circumstances. The night before, he wondered if he had become mad, only thinking about the single sentence and repeating it inside his mind without a break. It was also the reason why he could catch Sunday off guard, having not slept even for a minute that day. Like a silent call, it came from the depths of his mind, resting there as if waiting for its name to be chanted once more. "Why?" The man's sudden words made Valentine close his lips without a sound, not knowing how to respond to his question. Why do I... want to know about that flame? He didn't know; to be honest, he didn't know anything about himself at all. It was just a whim of his to ask that question, not thinking about the man's response in the slightest. "Just because I want to... Is that not enough?" With a half-hearted wave of his hand, he blurted out the only reason he could come up with. Creak. His head turned to the side, watching Sunday stand up from his stool and take off his coat for the first time. As his dark sweater revealed itself beneath it, his build, barely hidden under the thin white coat, became more prominent and intimidating for Val to observe. His chest was as big as a boulder, bulging beneath the cotton sweater as if having a mind of its own. The same was for his arms and legs, which looked ready to tear his strained clothes and flex themselves in front of him. Sunday, with his warm smile, held his hands together as one would during a prayer, not looking away from Valentine's face. "You want to know what a blessing is..." Suddenly, a tiny spark appeared between his closed palms, making his hands glow faintly. So that's what it's called. Val watched him intensely, trying to shift himself into a more comfortable position with the little strength he had. Sunday continued. "...Then I will explain to you, a fallen believer, what a blessing is for a devout saint like me." From between his fingers, tiny white flames were crawling out of his grasp