The walls of my room were the same as they had always been, gray, sterile, unyielding. The air was still thick with the scent of antiseptic, the distant hum of fluorescent lights pressing into my skull. It was quiet. Too quiet.
I pressed my fingers against my temples, inhaling slowly, forcing the thoughts to settle. I couldn't seem to escape them. They clung to me like shadows, creeping into every crack, every corner of my mind. It had been hours since Ezekiel had left. Hours since his voice, smooth and calculating, had wormed its way under my skin.
"I want to help you, Noah. I want to help you take back what's yours."
The words had burrowed into me, like they were digging through my flesh, searching for the hollow space where I kept my anger. Where I kept my pain. I had let him in, if only for a moment. And now, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about what he had offered me.
I should have ignored him. I should have buried his words alongside all the others I had learned to discard.
But I couldn't. Because the truth was, I didn't know what to do with the anger anymore. It had always been there, always just under the surface. But now? It had a name. It had a shape. It had a direction. And Ezekiel had pointed it out, like a map to my own madness.
What was I supposed to do with these thoughts? The thoughts that it wasnt for my own sake my family sent me here, but simply because they wanted me gone. In hindsight it was very obvious. My family had taken everything from me. Everything I had known, everything I had been. I had been cast aside like an old book no one bothered to read. They had locked me away, told me I was crazy, told me I wasn't real. And in doing so, they had stolen my future, my memories, my name. My life.
But the world was rotting. I could feel it now, the slow decay beneath the surface of everything. Even in here, in this sterile room, I could taste it in the air. I had seen it in the way people moved, the way they spoke, the way they avoided the truth as though it was something contagious.
Once, the world had been full of life. Full of wonder. Magic had been the thread that connected all things. It ran through the people, through the land, through the very sky. It wasn't just an ability or a force; it was the pulse of the world itself. I could almost remember it, like a dream half-remembered.
But now?
Now, everything felt drained.
The streets no longer buzzed with energy. People moved like ghosts, hollowed-out versions of themselves. The magic was still there, faint, but it was dying, gasping for breath. You could feel it in every corner of the city, in the way people walked around with their heads down, their eyes dull. You could feel it in the way the buildings leaned in, as if they too were bowing under the weight of something unseen.
But most people didn't see it. They didn't notice. They couldn't. They were too busy pretending it wasn't happening, too busy denying that the world was on the verge of collapsing.
And in that, in the way the world was so blind to its own rot, I found myself sinking deeper into this sense of isolation. It was like I was living on the edge of something, watching as everyone around me went about their lives, oblivious to the slow death of everything they had known. The weight of it pressed against my chest, suffocating me, stealing away any sense of purpose I had left.
But I wasn't like them. I had seen it. I had felt it. I could taste the sickness, the degradation in every breath I took. It had seeped into my soul, and I couldn't pretend it wasn't there.
"Your family, Noah. They betrayed you. They sent you away without a second thought."
The words rang in my head, over and over again, like a bell tolling in the distance.
Betrayal. It was the word I had been avoiding, wasn't it? The thing I had buried deep inside myself because I didn't want to confront it. But now, it was impossible to ignore.
They had lied to me. They had locked me away. They had erased me from their lives as if I was nothing. And then, after all that, they had the audacity to claim they loved me. To claim they had been protecting me.
The anger that bubbled up inside me felt so real, so raw, it almost hurt. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to just be angry. Anger burned out. It consumed, it destroyed, but in the end, it left you empty. It left you nothing.
No, I needed more. I needed something that would last.
"I want to help you take back what's yours."
Ezekiel's voice was calm, too calm, like he was speaking to someone who had already surrendered. But I hadn't surrendered. Not yet. And that was what made this so dangerous. Because in that calm, in that calculated assurance, I felt like I was being pulled deeper into something I couldn't understand. Something I didn't want to understand.
But a part of me—a small part, a part I didn't want to acknowledge—wanted it. Wanted the power. Wanted the control. Wanted the ability to make them see, make them feel, just for a moment, what I had felt all this time. What they had done to me.
It was like a gnawing hunger. A hunger for something that didn't exist.
And in the silence of my room, I realized that I was starting to crave something darker. Something more dangerous.
I clenched my hands into fists, the pressure sharp in my palms, my nails digging into the skin. I could feel the fire flickering beneath the surface of my skin. It had always been there, deep inside me, smoldering like the remnants of an ancient flame. My ability—my power—it wasn't something I had ever truly understood, but I had always known it was there. It had always been there, buried beneath the layers of confusion and fear, waiting to be unlocked.
It was more than just a power. It was a reflection of who I was—a product of everything I had endured.
I had never wanted it. Never wanted the responsibility that came with it. But in this room, in this moment, with the world slowly crumbling around me, it felt like the only thing I had left.
The world outside was broken. The people, the systems, the very fabric of reality was fraying at the edges. Magic still existed, but it was no longer the life-giving force it once had been. It was a faint whisper, a dying echo of what it used to be. People used it recklessly, like it was something they could control, like it had no weight, no consequences. But I had learned. I had learned that the world was rotting, not because of some grand conspiracy, but because everything had become too complacent. Too distant from its true purpose.
I had seen it, felt it, tasted it. And now I understood. The slow decay wasn't just happening to the world around me. It was happening to me too.
I looked at my hands, the same hands that had once reached for a future I could no longer remember. My fire had always been a part of me, but now, it felt like something I could use. A weapon. A tool. A way out.
But as I focused on it, something shifted.
For just a second, it wasn't fire.
The heat in my veins stuttered, flickering between warmth and something else—something unfamiliar. My vision blurred, and in its place, a sensation washed over me.
A sharp chill crawled over my skin, and for just a second, I wasn't in my room anymore.
Ah, just another Vision.
I was somewhere else.
The weight of stone pressed into my palm. The roughness of sand against my fingertips. The scent of salt in the air.
The ocean stretched before me, deep and endless, waves rolling under a sky painted in hues of gold and indigo.
"?????, let's go!"
A voice, clear, familiar, called out behind me.
I turned, and my breath caught.
A girl stood there, her blonde hair catching the sunlight, her deep blue eyes reflecting the endless ocean. I knew her. Or rather, this body knew her.
"…I'm coming, Seph. Give me a moment."
The words slipped from my lips, heavy with something I didn't understand.
The vision shattered.
I gasped, lurching back against the bed, the sensation vanishing as quickly as it had come.
What the hell was that?
I pressed a trembling hand to my temple, my breath uneven. That wasn't mine. That feeling—those elements—they weren't mine. And yet, for a split second, they had felt as real as the fire in my veins.
Something was wrong.
Or maybe, something had always been wrong, and I was only now beginning to notice.
I looked at my hands, the same hands that had once reached for a future I could no longer remember. My fire had always been a part of me. And yet, beneath the fire, I could feel it. A quiet breath of something else. Cold. Steady. Waiting.
And that terrified me.
I stuck out my hand, reaching for the paper cup of water on my monitor stand, my fingers still slightly unsteady from the vision.
The language in my head… At first, I hadn't understood it. But now, it was like something was translating it automatically. Like I had grown used to hearing it.
Huh.
My fingers hovered over the water, and before I could even think, it moved.
Like a snake responding to a charmer's song.
I stared at it, my mind blank.
I really couldn't deal with this anymore.