Timothy took to Aoren like a pupil to a great teacher. The man was stern, straightforward, and painfully honest. Yet the warm voice soothed more than his ears. For so long now, he’d craved for help, for someone to share his ambitions with, for someone to guide him. Perhaps, that someone could be Aoren, even if only for a moment.
“I am not so sure about becoming great,” Timothy chuckled nervously. “I’ll try to help of course and do my part, but I am not particularly good at anything really.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice. Perhaps he tried to be too many things at once. But how did one un-learn being excited by everything? He liked to sing, he’d enjoyed dancing with Sezkero, Kavala had made him rethink magic, and he’d grown addicted to the sensation of exhaustion. It made him feel useful, even if the only one benefitting endless exercise was him.
“I don’t really know why I am like that. Can’t help it. I just feel lonely at times, and useless…it’s as if I am stuck here still a slave, even though I am free now. The world’s not fair. I don’t understand why the gods keep it that way…why can’t everything just be good?”
Aoren’s display of power easily pulled him from his philosophic state. All worries were cast aside as an ear-to-ear grin split his face. “That’s brilliant!” He rushed over to the now shattered dummy and picked up one of the larger splinters. Bright, sparkling eyes examined the rubble from all angles. Part of it was seared by the heat, but most of it was splintered by the sheer force with which it’d been torn free.
As soon as he noticed Aoren’s less excited expression however, he slipped back into his wiser self. Licking his lips –the blast had fried the air- he leaned against the nearest wall and stared at the ceiling, hoping it would bestow some wisdom on him. Aoren’s confession was a sudden one, though it took a few ticks for Timothy to fully realize he was in the presence of a murderer. The notion was both thrilling and frightening and his heart skipped a few beats as he heard the Drykas out.
“I’ve not killed someone before,” he said shaking his head. “But I want to, and I will, and I am ready now.” Crossing his arms over his chest he contemplated the prospect for a moment. Facing the towering Jed would be scary, but if he had powers like Aoren, it would be simple.
Caught up in his train of thought, his mind inevitably stumbled over that which he’d tried so desperately to push out. Again a shiver rippled through his frame, though it couldn’t possibly be caused by cold. Like thunderclouds filling a clear sky, his features shifted. Shoulders drooped, his head hung low, and his chin trembled ever so slightly. Inwardly he cursed himself. Now, out of all moment, was not the moment. And Aoren was most definitely not the one he’d been wanting to tell.
But perhaps Aoren would listen. There was a comfort in trusting a relative stranger with one’s darkest secrets. Timothy’s voice was like a ghostly whisper, soft and trembling, as his eyes settled upon the Healer once more. “C-can I tell you a secret?”
Should the Seer feel inclined to help, Timothy would shuffle over and bring his lips just half an inch from Aoren’s ear. “Promise you won’t tell anyone. No one, okay?” Then, lowering his voice even further, Timothy would whisper his darkest secret. No one, not Hirem, Kavala, Caelum, Kennen, or anyone else had been entrusted the knowledge he was about to impart upon the Drykas.
“I..I once tried to k-kill my-myself."
He held his breath for a moment, cold fingers cupped firmly around Aoren's ear.
"...I put a chisel to my heart and wanted to pierce it but I was too much of a coward and," he sucked in a heavy breath, "...I'm scared, 'Ren, I feel so lonely at times and then I want t-to try a-again..."
