NovMo 2025 - Time-Shifters: Exile

The burnt umber wood of the Stump had always made Theiro feel safe, like he was in an ancient place that would always exist, no matter what trifling matters the humans within were momentarily bothered by. Touching the years-smoothened wood had given him a sense of perspective. But now the walls of the Stump seemed to press inwards, trapping Theiro with the overwhelming chatter of other students and the sensation of being a bug on display.
He kept his head down as he got his food at the buffet along the walls. Theiro was so focused on blocking out the voices and gazes around him that he didn’t realize he was stuffing salad into his water cup until someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He froze and looked up.
"Hey, I know you love gardening and all, but I think these plants are long past needing any water." Yane smirked at him.
Theiro stepped to the side awkwardly, and Yane’s hand slipped away. "...Right. Thanks.” He made a beeline for an empty table. Why was she talking to him? It wasn’t like they were enemies, but there had always been somewhat of a rivalry between them over grades and [shifting] tournaments.
Yane followed and set her tray down across from him. Theiro did his best to ignore her and eat his lunch. Somehow he felt even more on display now, like a scientist had begun to prod at the bug and all the other scientists were watching and taking notes.
"I think you must have had a good reason to kill that [Elder].”
Theiro stopped mid-chew. He looked up and met Yane’s solemn purple gaze. Her expression was serious, and if she was playing a prank on him, there was no hint of it to be found. Theiro swallowed. “Well, tell that to the Council,” he said bitterly. It didn’t matter if one person believed him, especially not someone who was just as powerless as he was.
“I did. They wouldn’t listen.”
Theiro kept eating. When it became clear that she was still waiting for something, he looked up again and said, “What, do you want me to thank you? I could’ve told you the Council wouldn’t listen. They tell their stories of good and evil and [trees] bringing the light of knowledge to the world and so when I killed a [tree], it’s inevitable that they slotted me into the role of the villain. Because of course, [trees] can do no wrong. Because things are simpler that way.” Theiro stabbed a tomato. “Apparently, I should be grateful I was only exiled and not executed.”
Yane watched distractedly as the tomato juices spread across his plate. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened to you. It doesn’t make sense to me how [specific elder] could have hidden [disease], but I will look into it.” Yane gathered her tray and items and got up to leave. “And no, I don’t want you to thank me. But if what you said at the trial was true–and judging by your behavior and expressions throughout this interaction, I’m inclined to think that it is–then I would like to thank you.”
With that, Yane set a piece of paper on the table and left.
Theiro frowned and read the paper. It had [Yane’s contact info, describe] on it.
He stared at the paper for a long moment. Then Theiro slipped it into his backpack, and for the first time that day, he felt just the tiniest bit less alone.

Theiro hates to admit it, but it is a beautiful day to be exiled from his school, city, and everything he has ever known.
Sunlight filters through the verdant canopy and forms dancing spots on the walkway. If Theiro ignores the guards on either side of him and the Council leading the way, he can almost imagine it’s a typical day at [academy] and he’s walking to [shifting] class to practice shifting plants back and forth in time. But no [shifter] can shift the whole world back in time. And truthfully, even if he could, Theiro knows he wouldn’t have done anything differently.
The group reaches a platform ringing the trunk of a tree. As they climb the staircase inside the hollowed trunk, for a few minutes the only sound is the scattered drumbeats of shoes against wood. Eventually they emerge onto a wide platform.
Theiro stands still in awe. The cerulean sky seems to stretch forever in every direction. Below them, a sea of leaves rustles in the breeze. Through the gaps in the trees, Theiro can see [the academy]. There is the Stump, the dining hall inside the enormous hollowed out stump of [elder]. His dorm is there, [description].
Theiro turns to the guard on his left. “Do you do this to all the people put on trial? Show them the best parts of [city] so they’re desperate to be allowed to stay?” He tries to smile like he is joking, but he can’t quite make it reach his eyes.
For a moment, the guard’s gaze seems to soften. But then the Council steps onto the next walkway, and the guards hustle Theiro forwards again.
Funny to fully appreciate a place just when you’re about to leave it, Theiro thinks bitterly. He watches the sunlight gilding the edges of the houses and academy buildings until the walkway curves and [city] is lost from his view.

The lights strung along the walkways have turned on with the coming of dusk. The last tints of sunset fade as Yane strolls towards home. Then as she turns abruptly and walks briskly towards the academy. Then as she runs towards the training grounds. The balls of light turn into streaks and Yane can almost pretend it is because of her speed and not the tears threatening to flood her eyes.
You’re not enough. Never will be. See, the Council barely hears a word you say, even though you’re one of the top students in [academy]. So what was it all for? Yane, what is it all for?
Yane runs until her lungs are burning and her legs are screaming at her to stop. But they can’t drown out the thoughts in her head. So she keeps running.
She only stops when she runs out of walkways. The lights here are fighting a losing battle against the darkness of the forest. Then she begins to [shift]. Because that is how it is, and always has been. Her thoughts tell her she is never enough, and she trains to prove them wrong.
Yane focuses on a section of the railing. It is made of sturdy oak, smoothened into a cylinder. She understands the wood, the grain, the quiet thread of life connecting this piece of wood to its past and future selves. She looks into the past and catches glimpses of an oak sapling, somewhere to the north of where they are. Be more precise, she thinks. There. A few [measurement] north, a few [measurement] east. Yane reaches for ten years ago, twenty. She narrows in on the version of the oak twenty four years, two [months], and thirteen days in the past. Then Yane pulls it to the present.

If I write that much more every year, it'll only take me 34 more years to win NovMo >.> Or let's see... 1,649 is about 5.5 * 300. If I write 5.5 times more each year, it'll take a little over two years? <.< Or realistically, if I don't take 22 units next fall, maybe I can do it =P