Free The Willbreaker (Book 1) by Mike Simmons

odd inner tooth feeling, it’s like that. Some others get the feeling of warmth on their skin closest to what they want to feel, and even others get no feelings at all, they just know. I get a sharp ache behind my left eye when danger is near me. It’s instantaneous; there is no doubt when I’m being told of what is to come. Does that clear anything up for you?”
                  Brandon nodded, although he still looked confused. “I am able to heal and repair my wounds, sometimes quite rapidly. Does that put my energy in the Body sphere?” Brandon asked, trying to understand what he is a part of more clearly.
                  “No, but I can see how you would think that. Being able to heal is one of the four powers of the Spirit. They classify healers under the Life side of that sphere. Contrasting to that is Death, Vision, and Will. Prophets and seers are gifted in Vision, while necromancers, and some warlocks, are gifted in Death. People of Will are a rare breed. Their magic can alter the strings of free will, or bar strands of personal will from being broken. I haven’t seen anyone gifted in the Will aspect of Spirit since I was a child. With you, it’s different. I still can’t pinpoint where your magic sits. It’s blurry to me. Just as your golden aura, that is something I’ve never seen before. When did you first discover the gift you had, Brandon, and what did it feel like when you used it?”
                  Brandon stared into the fire. “I was little, only five or six years old. I had finished putting away the linens that Margaret had washed, so she said it would be okay if I went outside and played for a while. I went into the pigpen. We had a sow that just gave birth to piglets, and I loved to go inside the pen and play with them, even though it was a muddy mess. Margaret always dreaded cleaning my clothes after I played with the pigs,” Brandon snickered with the fond memories. “I was playing with a few of the piglets, when Matt jumped out from beside the fence post. He scared the living daylights outta me; well, me and the mama pig. She squealed and jolted back a step, knocking me backwards toward the fence. With my hands stretched back behind me, I fell on the watering trough. The corner tore my right forearm up good,” Brandon said, as he pulled up his sleeve on his arm, showing Edward the eight-inch long scar that wiggled up to his bicep. “Matt ran around the side, and helped me out, crying with worry." Brandon let out a louder chuckle. “He was so scared. He didn’t want to get in trouble. I was crying myself. I held my arm tight to my body, and I covered the wound with my left hand. All I could think about was the pain. It was so vivid to me. It was the first time I had felt pain like that. -- I didn’t feel the sting of nerves or the ripped flesh. I felt it almost… in colors. With my eyes closed, where my hand sat, it was like a hue of colors underneath my fingers. Outside of the wound, the colors were shades of blue, and the closer I looked towards the wound the more yellow, then red, the colors became. It was odd; I didn’t really know what I was imagining. When I opened my eyes, all was quiet, I could see Matt crying and talking to me, but no sound come from him. My wound was as it should have been, blood flowing from my torn flesh. I closed my eyes again, for a brief second, and I saw the colors once more. All was still quiet. I’m not sure how it happened, but I began imagining the blue flowing into the yellows and reds, and as the corner of a napkin might soak up spilled red wine, the colors started blending. I could feel warmth from the wound, not like normal, but, well, I would now assume it was a magical warmth. The colors were vibrant, and changing. Then I heard Matt yapping his little heart out at me. I opened my eyes and looked at him, and back down to my arm. As I drew my hand away from the wound, it was gone. The only trace of it was