Rewriting His Past

Resolve

It was hotter than Dusk could have imagined, and to be completely honest, when he had conceived of this scheme, he had not anticipated falling this far. He felt a sharp, scorching pain in his back, as if it were a steak being seared. He could see Miss Thyst's burning in front of his eyes as she was screaming. Dusk was sick to his stomach at the image, even after everything he had been through.

Flames were eating into her skin, but her reaction had changed, as did the color. From screaming in rage to screaming in pain. The pitch had veered from intense rage to intense, understandable agony. Her hands clung to the front of his robes in a way that made him wonder why more of him was not in pain, even though his ears felt like they would bleed. Even though the fire did not seem to be interested in acting on him, it was still burning the floor as they fell together, causing them to fall again and again.

His eyes tried not to focus on her face or complexion in general, but a sick need to see kept them there. He discovered that he was unable to look away. Her pale face, which he could omit, was fairly pretty. Large areas of it had begun to blister and turn red; the edges of the blisters had even begun to turn black. This applied to every inch of her body; not even her clothing was obscuring anything from his view that took on that dark glow of an ember. That Dusk had only ever witnessed the logs in the fireplace turn when the fire was at its strongest. She appeared to be on fire from the inside out.

What to do? Dusk struggled to get her hands off of him without touching her, an impossible task. He could not get out of her strong grip with any amount of wiggling. He was able to make out her hands in the twiddling struggle, but it was primarily her on top of him and him on his back. Could he get out of his robe?

Dusk found it difficult to accomplish that; his robe was loose over his clothes, which was one advantage he had. The easiest part was pulling his arms in; the harder part was getting it over his head. If she was saying any words, Dusk couldn't make it with her screaming and pitching. It seemed as though the fall would never end. He was able to cover his head with his robe, despite the bright fire behind it. It flew in Miss Thyst's face, blinding and tangling her.

Good. Dusk thought, and given a moment to breathe, he went on to a second part of his plan. It depended heavily on chance. Now it has happened twice for Dusk. Once under the threat of Word being injured by a fireball, and once under the pressure of an attack. To master that prickly feeling, that sensation that had submerged him under the guidance of that supposed instructor, was all that was required. At best, Mr. Summerset was a self-important idiot, but maybe...

Because of that mindset, he was able to control his magic. The pain in his smile split Dusk's face. Not out of joy, but rather from the insane, irrational rush that was magic. There was magic in him that was tingling and bubbling. Dusk had to take control of it or risk dying attempting to do so. He knew this was literal in this instance, and he laughed. He could end up dead. His life might end at any moment. The white of his school robe burned in front of his eyes, exposing a face that resembled charcoal and flame rather than flesh and bone.

It was a representation. Unlike the stories that claimed life flashed before your eyes, Dusk's mind rolled in his. His mind whirled with the memories and experiences of his life as his eyes took in what was in front of them. Moments that revealed the timidity that had guided his life. He would flee from them, too, unable to trust those who tried to help him. A hand that offered assistance was the same as a hand that offered harm. It was how he survived. Dusk desired more than just survival; he desired something more. More than just surviving, he yearned to be alive.

He needed his magic to listen in order to do that. Dusk experienced a tingling sensation and fueled it, causing it to burn even hotter than the flames attempting to consume him. The blood hammered hard and fast through his heart, echoing in his ears, muffled her screams. Her howling resembled that of a monster rather than a person. It hurt, but not as much as it should have because his back had gone through multiple floors. Not feeling the pain was risky. It meant that his injuries went beyond the burns that were developing on his hands and arms.

"Give him to me!" Her voice rang and screamed harder than a banshee's cry.

Dusk calmly replied, "No," in spite of the flames that covered her like a coat on backwards. He grabbed hold of her. Similar to everything else that hurt him at that particular time. Dusk didn't feel the effect of that choice. "I want out of here." Dusk revealed his magic with no orders. Imagine the blue sky he would get Word glimpse of before he even stepped inside the building.

If it had not been so easy for him earlier, neither he nor they would be here right now. He had never felt more strength and peace than when he thought of his mates. Maybe it was the acknowledgement he received for experiencing the fabled connection for the first time. Now was not the time for him to consider it.

The magic—the magic he had struggled to understand and still didn't—worked. The crisp, warm air of the summer sky was beneath his body as he felt the pull and rise of the magic. Looking past the horrors that were clutched in his hands. He lifted a leg; he had no sense of touch or body awareness. Using his foot to kick out and his hands to push away. He stomped out Miss Thyst's monstrous form.

"No!" She shouted and blacked bones, and whiffs of skin tried to latch themselves onto him. Longing for safety, when she offered none herself.

"Miss Thyst, back at you." Until the very end, Dusk remained polite. Giving her a final shred of humanity. Before pushing her off again. Pushing her aside until there were only a few feet separating them, far enough for him to safely extend his hand and ask for assistance.

"Word!" With a cry, Dusk's body flipped in the sky, landing on his stomach, and he started to see grass and screaming students more clearly. He extended his arms and legs, stabilizing his balance. Granting him the appearance of control, which he was not foolish enough to accept, but in this instance, he wished it were. "Word!" He called out once more, confident in their newfound friendship. Never questioning it, fully and unwaveringly trusting it. Not because that was all he could do, but because this was the first time. He meant it from the bottom of his heart. He really, really meant it. All he could do was hope that his unwavering belief would not come too late.

Wishing he was not too late has been a recurring theme in his life lately. Dusk pondered whether he would spend the remainder of his life in that same state. Revolving around courage and fear. Love and bewilderment. He was determined that once this was finished, even though his ears were ringing with screams. He would resolve everything once and for all. That is not the way he wanted to live. If that was what he wanted, he would not have fled here but rather stayed put. To become lost in the same cycle.

"If Word does not show up soon, this will hurt." Watching the ever-approaching ground, Dusk murmured to the wind. With closed eyes, his heart calmed, and he decided to accept whatever fate had in store for him.