The spark that repels us.

Rising with the first light of dawn, the healer gathered his humble tools-a tiny sickle, a leather sack, and a bundle of cloth to wrap the valuable herbs he would gather-with worn hands. Though the early air smelt of moist ground and the faint promise of rain, the heavens stayed clear. Stepping outside his small cottage, tucked at the brink of the woodland, he wrapped his long, greying hair back with a strip of linen. The soothing rustle of leaves welcomed him as he began his walk.

Years and years ago, this woodland had been his haven. Its profusion of medical herbs was his comfort as well as his source of income. Still, today felt different. Like a storm building just over the horizon, an odd discomfort stayed in the air. Reversing the sensation, the healer changed his bag and continued, his trained eyes searching the undergrowth for the herbs his family had depended upon for millennia.

He stopped at a known clearing. Though the sun had not yet ascended high, the space radiated an ethereal radiance unlike anything he had ever seen. In the middle of the clearing, two lights moved. One gleamed a brilliant gold, warm and welcoming; the other glittered silvery blue, frigid but hypnotic. As though trapped in a cosmic dance, the lights appeared alive, whirling and flowing around one another. Still, they never touched, rejecting one another with equal force despite their proximity.

Breath of the healer caught in his throat. Though he had always discounted them as the babble of old storytellers, he had heard legends of supernatural events, of celestial beings descending into the earthly domain. Standing here in front of these lights now, he experienced both fear and wonder. Except for the soft hum of the lights, which seemed to be resonant inside his very soul, the clearing was quiet.

Not looking away, he moved cautiously forward. The motions of the lights grew more frenetic as he did, their brightness rising. He had to cover his eyes as a blast of vitality tore over the clearing. As he ventured back to look, the lights had begun to shift. They first took on human shapes, one man and one woman, slowly. Though their features were vague, like those of beings carved from light, their presence was clear-cut.

The healer felt her pulse hammer. Though instinct guided him to realise it was something much beyond his comprehension, he was unsure what he was seeing. The figures danced as he looked, their brightness decreasing as though they were disappearing. He felt a sharp urgency. He moved closer without thinking, his head whirling for answers.

Then he became aware of the Soul Rebirth Pill. A recipe handed down over decades, it was the most prized inheritance of his family. Though it cost a lot, the medication could bring life back from almost death. Its components were scarce, and its preparation calls for considerable time and talent. Tucked neatly in his satchel, a souvenir of his father's efforts, he had just one pill remaining.

He paused. His family's final hope, the tablet was a lifeline helping them combat poverty and decline. Still, he sensed a draw more powerful than reason or obligation as he studied the two figures. This was not a regular occasion. It seemed as though fate itself insisted on his participation.

Kneeling next to the two figures, he observed that the light of the girl was flickering more gently than that of the lad. Her shape appeared almost to fall apart, her edges fading into the air. Gritting his teeth, the healer decided. He pulled the pill from his pouch with shaking hands and lightly pressed it to the girl's lips. The pill melted right away, her fading brightness blending with its golden colour. At first, nothing happened. Her form then steadied, her radiance sharpening as though she had been rekindled from inside.

Though his comfort was fleeting, the healer sighed with relief. The lad's light darkened more, his form weakening by the second. Knowing he had limited ability, the healer dug inside his pouch. His fingers closed around empty cotton, the lack of another pill a sharp reminder of the decision he had taken. Watching the lad's light flutter one last time before disappearing into the ether, guilt and grief knotted in his chest.

Silence found her way back to the clearing. The healer slumped back, his body weighty with his choice. The girl's form confirmed even more; her features became more distinct. She was young-no younger than three-had beautiful features and hair that shimmered like spun gold. Her eyes opened to show irises of an exotic colour-a whirl of gold and silver.

She said, "Where...," her voice delicate and weak. The healer's throat grew constricted. "You are safe now," he murmured, his voice firm despite inner conflict. "Rest," said you. You have gone through a lot. The girl closed her eyes once again after staring at him with a mixture of trust and uncertainty.

Rising from her little shape, the healer set off on the return trip to his hut. His thoughts spun with enquiries. Whose child was this? Those were lights? And what had he really done to choose to save her above the lad? He knew none of what had happened could be shared with anyone. Though its followers were not immune to doubt and mistrust, the group was peaceful. Should word of a child born from celestial light get out, it may cause trouble he cannot afford. He would nurture her now as his own, hiding her roots even from his boys.

He passed one last glimpse at the clearing as he walked. The golden light of dawn had come back, but to him it felt less brilliant than it had. His mind kept the recollection of the boy's dying figure, a shadow he knew would follow him for the rest of his life.

Unknown to the healer, the boy's soul had not yet disappeared. It lingered, dispersed and invisible, waiting for the time when fate would reweave her strands. For now, it floated silently and unassumingly through the invisible currents of the planet, as though waiting for someone who would unintentionally come to be part of its story to notice.