The Immortal Beast

Chapter 8

                                                                                  Then there were 5!

Magic class had finally ended after what felt like forever, and I couldn't have been more relieved. I was exhausted—not just physically but mentally, too. The whole spellcasting disaster had drained me, and I had barely shaken off the weight of all the staring before Nora and I made our way back inside to meet up with Morgan and Sam.

The moment we spotted them near the lockers, Morgan was already mid-rant about her biology class, her face scrunched up in pure frustration.

"I swear, if I have to hear the words 'cellular respiration' one more time, I'm going to scream." She groaned, adjusting her bag strap as she walked beside us. "I mean, I get it. Cells need energy. We all need energy. Move on!"

Sam, ever the supportive friend, nodded dramatically. "Preach. I tuned out ten minutes in and just started doodling. And, of course, Mr. Allen had to call me out." She rolled her eyes. "Like, sorry for not hanging on to every fascinating word about photosynthesis. My bad."

I laughed at their misery, shaking my head. "Honestly? I'd take biology over magic class any day at this point." I rubbed the back of my neck, still feeling the lingering pulse of magic under my skin from earlier. "Not like I'm going to learn anything new in there anyway."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You say that like you didn't just cause a small-scale earthquake over a beginner spell."

Sam's eyes lit up, her interest piqued. "Wait—what did you do?"

Nora, who had been silent up until now, let out a small, nervous laugh. "Oh, you know, nothing major—just ripped open the earth, pulled out a ridiculous number of gems, and had the entire senior gym class watching." She shot me a look. "No big deal."

Sam whistled. "Damn, Sera. Go big or go home, I guess."

I rolled my eyes, pushing open the door to our history classroom as we stepped inside. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just drop it, okay?"

We took our usual seats at the back of the classroom, setting our bags down as our history teacher, Mr. Calloway, scribbled something across the board in his signature messy handwriting.

The Eighteenth Century: The Aftermath of the French Revolution

I sighed. Great. More revolutions, more political turmoil, and more discussions about who stabbed who in the back. Literally and figuratively.

Morgan groaned, leaning back in her chair. "Ugh, we're still on this? We've been talking about the French Revolution forever."

Sam leaned forward, smirking. "I mean, can you blame them? It was chaos. Beheadings, riots, mass paranoia. That's peak drama."

Nora wrinkled her nose. "You would be entertained by mass executions."

"I just think it's interesting!" Sam defended herself with a grin. "People really thought killing their leaders left and right would solve things, but instead, they just made everything worse."

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Welcome to human history. Overreact first, think later."

I half-listened as they continued, my mind drifting elsewhere. My gaze flickered to the board, but I wasn't thinking about revolutions or political shifts. I was thinking about earlier—about the way the earth had shaken beneath my feet, about the look on everyone's faces, about how effortless it had felt.

Then, I thought about Damon.

I could still see the way he had stared at me, as if trying to figure something out. It wasn't just his usual smug curiosity—it was something more. And that made me uneasy.