Ezekiel Joziah Hunt is the last Descendant of the Stars.
As the bastard son of the King of Evimeria, he was shunned by his Grandfather Andreas when he was a small child and forced to rip off his supernatural powers.
Seeking sanctuary, Ezekiel moves...
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He's not here. He's not here. He's not here.
I chanted silently to myself as I ran.
I reached the building, passing by many bewildered people along the way and finally finding the dormitory. I struggled to remind myself to keep breathing which suddenly seemed secondary.
Everything was a blurry kaleidoscope of catatonic colours and anarchy of sounds. They were suffocating me, burying me under their vehement debris. I could feel dread and nausea swirling in a tempest in the pit of my stomach.
The elevator door opened painstakingly slow as a strangled, panicked cry escaped my throat. I recalled what I had learnt and tried to concentrate on my breathing. A single word rang out clear in my head. The soulless, beady eyes and haywire hair accompanying it.
"Plead."
An almost tangible pain shot through my body as I recounted his horrifying face. Dry shuddering sobs escaped my throat as I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button multiple times.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
I was aware of my heart as it beat frantically. Aware of my lungs as they shuddered and expanded as if they were no longer inclined to keep functioning. As if I was walking underwater, unable to feel.
I shut my eyes, feeling pinpricks of heat piercing my eyeballs agonizingly. I rested my back against the cool metal. The movement was nauseating. I wanted to keep running. I couldn't escape. The walls were closing in on me. Irrational, crippling fear overwhelmed me, strangling me like a venomous serpent.
Another sob escaped my throat as my nausea increased. I had no idea how I had managed to remain calm for the time that I had walked to the ground. I bolted out of the lift door as soon as there was enough space for me to squeeze through. I ran along the corridor and slammed open the door to my room. I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of it, my heart beating wildly.
Ransacked.
The mattress was turned over. The walls had lewd drawings with crayons. My cupboard was open. My unopened luggage was now strewn across the floor. Shampoos, gels, and toothpaste all creating a muck over them.
Before I could react, I felt another wave of nausea and ran to the bathroom, coming face to face with a million silver shards of the mirror, which were scattered on the floor. Curtains on the enclosure had been ripped apart.
I bent over the toilet bowl and threw up before I could process anything else. My throat was dry as my body racked with shuddering gasps.
He's not here. He's not here.
I could feel the pain in my body. My neck. My back. My stomach. Like every cell was experiencing the horror again.
I collapsed on the cold tiled floor, shaking uncontrollably. I hadn't had an episode like this for the last eight years. The last time I had experienced a trigger, it was at Evelyn's birthday party. But that reaction had been entirely different. The only similarity was my feeling of lack of control.
