I opened my eyes—
And it felt like something inside me had come back to life, dragged from a dream that never ended.
It didn't feel real.
But it hurt too much to be an illusion.
The light was dim, warm, and orange.
We stood in a stone chamber. Carved pillars surrounded us, like a lost temple.
Behind them, fire flickered—casting restless light across cracked walls.
The air was thick with smoke, wet stone, and the scent of old sweat.
Something inside me tensed, as if I had been here before.
In another memory. Or a dream.
I tried to breathe.
Everything inside me burned.
And I wasn't alone.
A frozen hand pressed my waist.
A shiver jolted through me.
I hadn't expected it so soon.
Oliver.
I spun.
"What are you doing?" My breath caught, fury clawing my throat.
I shoved him back. "What makes you think you can touch me?"
He hardly moved. Just smiled—smug, almost repulsive.
"You pretend to be innocent," he said. "But your eyes don't lie."
Disgust came first.
Then helplessness—flooding my stomach.
Then fear. My hands trembled.
And finally—
Anger.
Fury didn't need permission.
"I'm angry," I said.
I didn't know whether it was about him or me.
I may let it happen. I may have confused training with something else.
"Why did you bring me here?" My voice shook, but I forced it steady.
"Why do you think?" He leaned against a pillar. The stone groaned under his hand—
As if even the rock flinched at his voice.
"Because here, if you lose control, you won't cause damage.
And if you do lose control, you won't be the only one who gets hurt.
I've seen that up close before."
"I don't know you," I spat. "And I don't want to. You're a ticking bomb."
"You're right. You don't know me.
And you don't need to.
I've trained dozens of students. I know how to spot the dangerous ones."
"I'm not like the others," I insisted.
He stepped closer. Too close.
His coat smelled of moss and battle. His eyes locked onto mine.
"Doesn't look that way."
"And do you always have to be this rude?"
"Softness comes with a cost. It's reserved for the weak.
You're not weak—just confused."
I clenched my fists. "Then let me ask questions. That's how I learn."
"That's not how I teach." His tone was flat, lifeless.
"I decide when I allow questions."
The flames died all at once.
Darkness fell, sudden and suffocating.
Fear crawled up my throat like invisible hands choking me from the inside.
The silence was heavy. Time itself seemed to stop.
"What happened?" I whispered.
"Light a fire," he said.
"What?"
"Cast a fire spell."
"I don't know any spells. That's why I'm here."
He laughed—empty, sharp.
"Oh, I thought they sent you just to keep me entertained…"
My breath snapped.
"Did you actually say that?"
For a heartbeat, he was quiet.
Then his voice softened—like a mask slipping.
"Do you need to know someone to see what they're made of?"
Almost—almost, he sounded real.
But then he turned away. His gaze fractured, regret flickering for only a second.
"Maybe you judge people too quickly," I whispered.
"So you won't have to see them."
He clapped slowly.
"What a line," he said, stepping closer.
"Don't say things you don't understand."
"Then the same goes for you."
Strength surged in me—suddenly, I was alive.
He exhaled, then said, "Focus. Say Ignis Orbis. A simple spell. It creates a ball of fire."
I nodded. Closed my eyes.
Breathe. Focus. Memory of light.
"Ignis Orbis."
Nothing.
Again.
Hands trembling. Fear of failing. Fear of him. Fear of myself.
Third try—
A flicker of warmth.
I opened my eyes. Nothing.
Anger burned. Maybe because, deep down, I feared my own light.
"If you can't even manage this," Oliver's voice cut like a whip,
"How will you survive the rest of your training?"
His eyes glinted. Not from fire—
From something darker.
"I have other powers," I whispered.
"Oh, really? Like what?" His tone dripped sarcasm.
"I have visions. And what I write… comes true."
He sneered.
"I don't care. If I haven't seen it, it doesn't exist."
But it does. When the vision comes, it will happen.
He waved a hand. The air warped. The walls blurred.
My chest clenched.
Silence fell again. My breath vanished—then returned, as if someone else controlled it.
I felt ten years old again, alone in a cave.
Then the light snapped back—
We were in the courtyard.
I shoved the memory away like a door slamming in a storm.
One moment, I'd been fighting myself.
The next—everything looked normal.
Only I wasn't.
The wind ran through my hair as if to erase what happened.
But Oliver's cold stayed in me—anger clinging to my skin.
Did it happen?
Did he see what I saw?
I didn't want to think.
I just ran.
"Hey!" Linnea's voice startled me.
"I thought you'd already gone home."
"What time is it?"
"Why aren't you using your locker?" she asked, flipping open her notebook.
"Costs forty bucks."
She shrugged. "Not worth it."
"I can pay," I offered.
"That's sweet. But no, thanks."
"So why are you still here?"
"Better here than at home."
She tugged on her sleeve. A flash of blue on her skin—
Or maybe I imagined it.
A shout echoed in the distance. Or a noise that made me shiver.
I reached out.
"If you ever need to talk—I'm here."
I hugged her. Her body trembled, tight as a string pulled too far.
She didn't speak. Just gave me a sad smile.
A secret smile.
Behind her—
Jace.
His shadow cut through the light. My heart stumbled.
I wanted to call him.
But the words stuck.
Maybe he'd seen me with Oliver.
Maybe he was afraid of me.
Silence hurt more than words.
"Are you okay?" I asked when I reached him.
He nodded. Tired. Walked to the lot. Helmet. Engine. Gone.
His eyes never met mine.
Maybe he's frustrated. Maybe he's hurting.
Maybe both.
I swallowed the ache.
Didn't want to sound desperate.
But he drifted away from me—
And maybe from himself, too.
So I ran to my car.
At home, trees blurred past the window until the house appeared.
Straight to my room. Headphones.
I drew.
Colors clashed—red, black, and storm gray.
I painted a creature that doesn't exist.
Half wolf.
Half angel.
Sorrowful eyes. Broken wings.
Maybe that creature was me.
Someone pulled my headphones.
Dylan.
My heart eased. With him, I always felt safe.
"What happened? Who upset you?"
"Oliver. He's my supernatural studies teacher. First lesson—he insulted me. Some reverse psychology, I guess."
I remembered. "Billy says hi."
"Thanks." His voice was steady.
"Is there something between you two?" I asked.
He nodded. "Five years now."
"What?! Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's not about trust. I'm still in the closet. No one knows."
"You know we'd support you."
"I know. Thank you."
He looked at my painting.
"Finish it after you sleep. It's not going anywhere."
I smiled. "Of course not. Like me—stuck."
I crawled into bed.
"Goodnight."
"Amelia?"
I paused.
"What?"
"Who is Jace?"
My face flushed. I hid in my hands.
"A friend. Kind of."
"You're asking—or telling?"
"I'm not sure," I whispered.
"Do you think I have low self-esteem?" I asked.
"Everyone does. Even if they deny it."
He looked straight at me.
"Your teacher said that, didn't he?"
I nodded.
"That's part of you. Not awe. Just… you."
"And you?"
"Me too. If someone said something awful, it would shake me."
He tucked in the surrounding blanket.
"Good night."
All three of them pulled me into different worlds.
And me?
I just wanted to remember who I was—
Before I transformed into someone else entirely.