Page 173 of Axis of Fire

“Fine.”

I crossed my arms dramatically.

“Protect your precious masterpiece.”

“Gladly.”

We exchanged canvases again, and I froze.

Inside my circle, Airis had painted several trees.

Only they weren't entirely solid.

Their outlines blurred softly into the background, as though they existed somewhere between reality and memory.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the faint smile that appeared on Airis's lips as he studied the highlights I'd added to his cloud.

At that moment, he understood something.

And judging by that expression, he liked what he'd discovered.

Our approaches couldn't have been more different.

If I became an observer inside his painting, then Airis became the architect of mine.

In every possible way.

Expressionism suddenly felt painfully fitting for him.

His brushstrokes were gentle.

Yet impossibly certain.

The kind of certainty that never needed to announce itself because everyone around it could feel it anyway.

The complete opposite of abstractionism.

The complete opposite of me.

Or maybe not completely.

Dipping my brush into black paint again, I drew a line across the canvas.

It stretched diagonally from the upper right corner to the lower left.

It didn't touch Airis's trees.

But it changed everything around them.

In this painting, I didn't want to be a spectator.

I wanted to be an equal creator.

An equal voice.

“Ready to switch?” I asked.

Airis nodded and handed me his canvas.