19. NINETEEN

nineteen

TOMORROW I'M ON MY OWN

Darian swings at me in slow motion. I duck, his blade narrowly missing the top of my head by an inch. I swing my satchel at him, as pathetic as it is. His green eyes burn, flickering flames within his irises. With a wicked smile, his irises burst into red, then orange, until his eyes are but an expanse of white, drowning out his pupils. Heat kisses my skin, and the oxygen is sucked from the air.

I clutch at my throat, willing myself to breathe. Flames rupture from the ground and dance around me, flickering between red and blue. Every direction I turn they spring. The cries of the little girl, her parents, my mother, and my brother echo around me. The crackling fire mimics the snapping of a man’s neck.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I drop to my knees, covering my ears as they ring louder.

Circling me, taunting me, torturing me. I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block it all out. I tear my ears off, and when I open my hands, blood bathes my skin. The screams still ring in my head, even louder than before.

Blood of power.

Blood of power.

Blood of power.

I wake with a jolt, panting and laying in a pool of my own sweat.

Five things I see.. .

I look around, taking notes of my room. Of the desk, the chair, my bed, the tattered ceiling, my satchel. I run through my other senses until my breath slows.

Four things I feel.

Three things I hear.

Two things I smell.

One thing I taste.

I blow out a breath. It was just a dream.

Daeja must sense my panic because her watery voice trickles into my mind. “I’m still here.”

I brush my hair back from my forehead, settling my panic and fear.

Beams of soft, dawn light trickle through the holes in my ceiling, stretching out across the room and falling onto my satchel. Exhaustion weighs heavily on me, but I rule out going back to sleep. The memory of the echoing screams still haunting me.

I retrieve my father’s journal, hopeful I can find some sort of answer to what I need to do.