Blade institute: the unseen prophecy

6

I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me, washing away the grime and blood of the night. But it does nothing to clear my mind. The warmth that usually soothes my muscles only serves to amplify the chaos inside my head. My sister's messages are still buzzing in my mind, like a swarm of angry bees, bringing back memories I've tried so hard to bury. Memories of my mother's wrath—her relentless scrutiny, the way her voice would rise to a sharp pitch, slicing through any sense of peace. The blows that followed were almost a relief, a brief distraction from the words that cut deeper than any physical pain.

Each memory is like a shard of glass, sharp and unyielding, digging into my consciousness no matter how hard I try to push it away. I close my eyes, letting the steam wrap around me like a blanket, but it only serves to trap the memories inside, making them more vivid, more painful. The sound of my mother's voice, her face twisted in anger, the cold disdain in her eyes—it's all too much.

After an hour of standing under the scalding water, my skin flushed red and my mind no clearer than before, I can't stand it any longer. I need to escape—escape the thoughts, the memories, the suffocating weight of everything that's happened tonight.

The Institute is quiet as I slip out of my room, moving silently down the halls until I'm outside. The night air is cool, refreshing against my skin, and I breathe it in deeply, hoping it will clear my head. I start walking, not really caring where I'm going, just needing to move, to feel something other than the chaos inside. Cars hum past me as I walk, their headlights cutting through the darkness, but I barely notice them. My mind is a whirl of thoughts and emotions, too tangled to make sense of.

Someone walks by on my left, and I instinctively avoid eye contact, quickening my pace. The last thing I need is some stranger trying to strike up a conversation or, worse, asking if I'm okay. I'm not okay, but I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be left alone with my thoughts, no matter how painful they are.

I wander for what feels like thirty minutes, lost in thought, before I finally decide to head back. The night air has done little to clear my mind, but at least it's given me a break from the stifling atmosphere of the Institute. As I approach the front of the Institute, I notice a figure standing near the entrance. My heart skips a beat—it's the same stranger I noticed earlier, but this time I can see him more clearly.

Without thinking, I duck behind a bush, cursing myself for leaving my blades behind. *Institute 101: Always carry a weapon,* I think to myself, the lesson drilled into us since day one. *Great job, Evangeline. Clearing your head is going to get you killed.*

I peer through the leaves, trying to get a better look at the stranger, but his features are still obscured by shadows. His footsteps grow closer, and suddenly, I'm yanked out from behind the bush by the back of my shirt and thrown onto my back. The impact knocks the breath out of me, and for a moment, I see stars. But my training kicks in, and I quickly scramble to my feet, instinctively falling into a fighting stance.

"What are you doing?" Rian's voice cuts through the darkness, sharp and accusatory. His tone is laced with irritation, and something about it grates on my nerves. "Spying on me? Following me? I mean, why wouldn't you? You seem crazy."

I straighten up, trying to steady my racing heart, and brush the dirt off my arms and legs. "I wasn't following you," I say, trying to sound casual despite the awkwardness of the situation. "I was out for a walk, saw someone, and it just happened to be you."

He laughs, a sound that feels both mocking and amused. "Sure, because sneaking around in the bushes is totally normal behavior for a midnight stroll. I saw you back there. Thought I'd wait up."

I narrow my eyes, not appreciating his tone or the way he's looking at me—like I'm some puzzle he's trying to figure out, or worse, a joke he's in on and I'm not. Is this the same guy who threw me under the bus to the Headmaster earlier? "No need. I don't need you to."

Rian crosses his arms, studying me with those intense, unreadable eyes of his. There's something in his gaze that flickers—something almost like concern, but I can't be sure. "Do you know how dangerous it is out here for you?"

"For me?" I scoff, rolling my eyes. "You're out here too. It's equally as dangerous."

He looks me up and down, just like he did earlier when we were prepping for the mission. "Someone with eyes like yours needs to be very, very careful."

My patience snaps, the irritation bubbling over into full-blown anger. "What do you mean, 'someone with eyes like mine'? What are you talking about?"

He sighs, the sound heavy with frustration and something else I can't quite place—regret, maybe? "You'll find out soon enough."

I take a step closer, my irritation bubbling over into frustration. "Why can't you just tell me? You keep dropping these cryptic comments. It's weird, Rian. You make no sense."

He meets my gaze, and for a moment, I think he's going to say something—something important, something that might actually explain all the weirdness. But then his expression shutters, closing off whatever it was that almost slipped through. "It's not my job to tell you these things. You should have already been told," he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost regretful tone.

"Why don't they have classes to teach us how to use our powers, then?" I snap, exasperated with the whole conversation. I'm tired, frustrated, and not in the mood for his cryptic bullshit.

He doesn't respond, and the silence hangs between us, thick and uncomfortable. It's like we're both standing on the edge of something—something important, but neither of us is willing to take the next step. Desperate to change the subject, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, "Your brother—"

Rian's demeanor shifts instantly, darkening as he glares at me. His eyes flash with a warning, and the air around us seems to drop a few degrees. "Let's get inside," he says, his tone flat but laced with an underlying threat.

I bristle at the command, my stubborn streak flaring up. "I'm good," I reply, my voice defiant. "I don't need you to walk me."

But Rian's not having it. He steps closer, his expression hardening. "We need to get in. Now."

I roll my eyes at him, annoyed by his bossy attitude. But before I can move, something cold and unseen wraps around my throat, lifting me off the ground and throwing me back. The air is knocked out of my lungs, and for a split second, panic floods my system. But instinct takes over, and I think about landing softly, my magic responding just in time to cushion my fall as I hit the grass.

I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding, and see Rian already engaged in a fight. It's Sophia—the demon we were hunting earlier. Her eyes are wild, gleaming with malevolent glee as she circles Rian, her tongue flicking out like a snake's.

"Rian!" I yell, but my voice is drowned out by the chaos. I reach for my magic, feeling it surge to the surface as I prepare to jump back into the fray. The night that was supposed to bring peace has turned into another battle for survival, and this time, I'm not about to let her get away.

Sophia strikes at Rian with blinding speed, her claws aimed for his throat. He dodges, but just barely, his movements more desperate than calculated. It's clear he's outmatched, even with his skill.

I rush to his side, flinging a bolt of light at Sophia to distract her. It hits her square in the chest, and she hisses in pain, recoiling just long enough for Rian to regain his footing. We fall into a rhythm, attacking and dodging in sync as we try to wear her down. But she's strong—stronger than we anticipated—and every move she makes is designed to kill.

I steal a glance at Rian, catching the strain on his face, the sweat beading on his forehead. For all his arrogance, he's fighting with everything he's got, and I can't help but grudgingly respect him for it. There's a fire in his eyes that wasn't there before, a determination to see this through, even if it kills him.