Blade institute: the unseen prophecy

11

Evangeline jolted awake, her breath hitching in her throat as if she'd been drowning. Her chest tightened, and her hands gripped the sheets in a desperate attempt to anchor herself in the present. The remnants of a nightmare clung to her like a heavy fog, disorienting her, blurring the lines between what was real and what was imagined. Her pulse raced, and a cold sweat trickled down her back as she slowly began to recall the events of the previous night.

The fight. Rian. The man.

The memory of the man's hands on her, his breath hot and rancid against her skin, made her stomach churn. She scrambled to sit up, frantically patting her body as if to confirm that she was still intact, that he hadn't managed to... No, she couldn't even bring herself to finish the thought. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, as if that could stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

But nothing could erase the sensation of helplessness she'd felt, the terror that had gripped her heart. Her mind reeled, trying to piece together the moments after Rian had come to her rescue. But it was like trying to grasp smoke—everything after Rian's confrontation with the man was a void. She didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that she couldn't remember what happened next.

Evangeline curled into herself, pulling the blanket up to her chin as if it could shield her from the dark memories swirling in her mind. Her past. The memories of those times came rushing back, cruel and relentless, as if the dam she'd built over the years had finally burst. Images flashed before her eyes—her father's angry voice, the cold nights spent crying alone in her room, the faces of people who had hurt her, betrayed her.

A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed her face into the pillow, trying to stifle the sound. She was supposed to be stronger than this. She had built walls, fortified herself against the world, against her past. But last night, those walls had crumbled, and now she was left exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn't been for a long time.

The door to her room creaked open, and Evangeline quickly wiped at her tears, not wanting anyone to see her in this state. She heard the soft padding of footsteps, and then the bed dipped slightly as someone sat down beside her. She didn't need to look to know who it was—Ethan had always been able to find her when she was at her lowest.

"Hey, troublemaker," Ethan's voice was soft, carrying that familiar warmth she'd always found comforting. He didn't touch her, didn't press her to look at him. He just sat there, giving her the space she needed. "How are you feeling?"

Evangeline shrugged, her gaze fixed on the window, where the early morning light filtered through the curtains. She didn't trust her voice to answer, didn't trust herself not to break down completely if she tried to speak.

Ethan was silent for a moment, then he spoke again, a small smile in his voice. "You know, I was thinking about that time we tried to bake a cake together, and it ended up looking more like a deflated football than anything edible. Remember how you insisted on using double the chocolate?"

Evangeline didn't respond, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Ethan always knew how to find the little moments of light, even when she was trapped in darkness.

Ethan continued, weaving together a string of lighthearted memories, his tone gentle and teasing. He was trying to pull her out of her head, to distract her from the pain gnawing at her insides. But the ache in her chest didn't lessen, and the tears she'd been holding back spilled over once more, tracing silent paths down her cheeks.

Noticing her distress, Ethan's expression softened. He shifted closer, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, as if asking permission before touching her. "Evangeline," he said quietly, "do you want to talk about it?"

The question broke something inside her, and she shook her head violently, choking on a sob. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "No, I can't."

Ethan nodded, understanding in his eyes. He didn't push, didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her gently into his embrace. She melted into him, her body shaking as she cried into his shoulder. For a long time, they stayed like that, Ethan's steady presence the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.

After what felt like an eternity, Ethan pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her tear-streaked face. "Come on," he said softly, his tone gentle but firm. "Let's get you out of bed. You don't have to do anything, but lying here all day won't help."

Evangeline nodded weakly, allowing him to help her up. Her body felt heavy, as if all her strength had drained away, but Ethan was patient, guiding her as she dressed and led her out of the room.

The day passed in a blur. The institute was bustling with activity, but Evangeline felt detached, as if she were moving through a dream. The training sessions were a nightmare. Every time she tried to focus, her mind dragged her back to the night before, to the memories she'd buried so deep she'd almost convinced herself they didn't exist.

During a sparring match with Jessica, her temper snapped. Jessica's relentless jabs, both physical and verbal, were more than she could bear. Evangeline lashed out, her moves wild and reckless, driven more by anger and frustration than skill. It was a mistake.

Jessica, more focused and composed, quickly gained the upper hand. Within moments, Evangeline found herself on the ground, gasping for breath, her body aching from the force of Jessica's strikes. The humiliation stung, but not as much as the realization that she'd let her emotions get the better of her.

Rian's voice cut through the haze of pain and anger, sharp and filled with frustration. "What the hell were you thinking, Evangeline?" he demanded, striding over to where she lay. "Do you have a death wish? Because that's what it looks like!"

Evangeline struggled to her feet, glaring at him through the pain. "You don't know me, Rian," she snapped, her voice laced with venom. "Stop pretending like you do."

Rian's eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "I don't need to know you to see that you're going to get yourself killed if you keep acting like this. What happened last night—" He broke off, realizing too late that he'd gone too far.

The mention of last night made Evangeline flinch, her anger giving way to hurt. She turned away from him, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall again. "Just leave me alone, Rian," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't need your pity."

For a moment, Rian seemed at a loss for words. Then, with a frustrated huff, he turned and stormed off, leaving her standing there, feeling more alone than ever.

Evangeline watched him go, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The truth was, she was angry—angry at herself, at her past, at the world. But most of all, she was angry that she couldn't just forget, that the memories wouldn't stop haunting her, no matter how hard she tried.

And she was terrified—terrified that Rian was right, that her anger and pain were going to destroy her if she didn't find a way to control them.

But she didn't know how.