Everall | The Magicae

Seven - Ignis

"Num quis mihi dicit quod dico? An nemo potest me intellegere?" The teacher, Ms. Marlon asks. 'Can anyone tell me what I'm saying? Or can no one understand me?'

I raise my hand to answer, "You asked if we can understand you. Or more specifically if we can tell you what you're saying."

"Good job!"

Beat.

Beat. Beat.

Beat. Beat.

My heart starts to speed up as the teacher continues on, but her voice fades out. "Not here, not right now," I mutter to myself under my breath as I place my head in my hands. Taking deep breaths slows my heart rate and can sometimes slow it, so I do that.

Breathe in.

Breath out.

In.

Out.

A hand rests on my shoulder as the now soft voice of my teacher sounds above me, "Hey, Ignis, are you okay?"

I raise my head to look at her, almost certain my eyes have started to dilate from my fear. She looks like she won't accept my silence, so I whisper, "I think I might be having a panic attack, can I call my mom?" Hopefully that will get me out of this class so no one gets hurt.

"Of course, do you want someone to go with you?"

"No, I can go by myself," I immediately stand up, my chair squeaking on the floor making me flinch. I lose hold of my breath for a second and bile rises to my throat as an image flashes in my head: The entire school filled with burning, screaming people. No one to save them, not even their new hero. Quickly, I rush out of the classroom as a tear slips down my cheek before I can push the images back to the back of my head.

My steps echo in the hall as I quickly walk towards the back of the school. I barely even check the corners for teachers before I cross them. If I explained what was happening to a teacher, they would rush me to the health room and I wouldn't be able to get away from them before it happens. The heavy, steel door creaks as I push it open and stumble outside.

The pavement is probably hot but I'm sure my skin is hotter. If it isn't, I don't notice as my knees collapse out from under me. Let go, stop holding us back. The low whispers crawl through my head, as if they were starving and begging for food.

"No, people will get hurt. Not here, I won't allow it," I whisper.

Yes, here. Let us free and we'll let you breathe again.

"I don't care if you won't let me breathe, I'll figure it out. But I will not let you hurt people," My defiant voice trails through my head and out loud as it gives an aggressive hiss.

I jump and lose the breath I'd finally caught when someone, familiar I might add, speaks up behind me, "Who's not letting you breathe?"

As I turn, a gasp would have escaped my lips if it weren't for the fact that I can't breathe. I end up hunched over, coughing and hacking like I'd nearly drowned.

There stands the hero everyone's been talking about for the last few days. The hero who's fireproof. The little hair sticking out of her hood is nearly blood red, her jean jacket torn but still beautiful in its designs. She keeps her hood up and her hands behind her back. Even though it doesn't make sense as to why, her hood provides enough darkness to shield her face, even if a small glint of some kind of mask hides beneath the shadow. Rather than just leggings or jeans, she wears what looks to be made of scales.

Let us out.

I quickly say just above a whisper, "If something bright happens, either cover everything around here with water, or me."