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One, two, three, four, five.
Two, four, six, eight, ten.
Three, six… oh no!
Mael’s arms encase in fire as Professor Byzatic attempts to cast a spell. I don’t know who started this, but it’s only making my anxiety stronger. My stomach turns, a bitter taste in the back of my throat as I try not to throw up.
The spell is not a word I’ve heard before, so I’ve got no clue what it means and since there is too much magicae in the air, I can’t get a feel for it.
Mael blocks it, effortlessly, and throws a fireball towards Professor Byzatic, who deflects it. They’re battling with their magicae, and it’s terrifying me.
The fireball that originated with Mael’s magicae, but is now being commanded by Professor Byzatic, lurches towards Mael and that’s when both my magicae and I decide that it’s enough.
I refuse to let the fireball hit myanima nexum, myflamma.
My magicae bursts forward, escaping from myprimordiumand hurtles towards the fireball without my permission. I let out a shriek as I fall backwards, landing on my bum, and tears spring to my eyes at the sudden pain.
My magicae absorbs the fireball, and distinguishes it with water. A small amount of steam is all you can see before those wisps disappear.
Mael’s jaw drops open, looking at me in amazement because not only did I stop him from being hit, but I dissolved the fireball to do so. The look Mael sends my way is one of true admiration, but I can’t take pride in it.
The anxiety within me has built to an unbearable level, and I know there’s no hope of me calming down without first weathering through this panic attack.
“Get her out of my classroom,” Professor Byzatic roars, glaring at me as if I’m the one who did something wrong here.
And that’s when my anxiety hits its peak. I let loose a giant wave of power, and my vision fades in and out as bright gold power bursts from me. It’s a good thing I’m already on my bum because that would’ve knocked me down. It’s pretty, in a way I shouldn’t appreciate, as silver, blue, red, green, and dark strands mix in and out of it.
Mael absorbs a large portion of it, grunting a little as it hits him, but the rest… well, the rest hits Professor Byzatic in the chest, and knocks him to the ground. The professor can’t handle the mass amount of energy I threw his way, and he falls into an unconscious oblivion.
I scoot forward a little wanting to check on my professor, but dizziness overwhelms me, and I have to grip onto the table for support.
“Shit, baby,” Mael whispers, darting over to where I’m sprawled out on the ground. I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling completely drained of energy, strength, and ability to process. Myprimordiumis running on empty after that blast of power. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but I don’t know if that’s the truth. My nose didn’t scrunch, but I just feel empty inside.
“That’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing my temple. “Can you just sit here whilst I get Zohar and Eirik?”
I nod, and he stands up and walks over to the professor. A portal opens, and I smile, or at least try to, as Eirik and Zohar walk through it, the former seeming resigned and the latter worried.
Zohar rushes to my side, and cuddles me in close. I can feel his cool magicae assess me, and I let my eyes flutter closed. I’m safe, I’m okay.
“You’re meant to be checking him,” Eirik says, sounding amused, but I guarantee there will be a frown on his face. My elementalanima nexumtakes everything as a personal mission, and I know this confrontation with Professor Byzatic will be causing him some stress.
“He can fucking wait,” Zohar snarls, and the angry tone he’s using is such a contrast to my usually chilled out mate. “How are you feeling, dragonfly?”
Do I lie to make him feel better, or do I try to tell the truth?
“The truth,” Zohar murmurs, using a soft tone. I open my eyes, and he gives me a reassuring smile.
“Drained.”
“I can see that,” he replies, smoothing out my wayward hairs. “What triggered your anxiety attack, Zoe?”
I think back, trying to decipher the exact emotions because I know that Zohar’s trying to keep track of my panic attacks so that he can try his best to help rid me of them. It’s been seven years of anxiety, panic attacks, and overall distrust in my own mental state.
I love that he’s trying, but I’m not sure that I can be fixed.
“I was scared… angry, even,” I say, and Zohar’s brows pull together. It’s not like me to get angry. “Professor Byzatic wouldn’t let us leave the classroom, and he and Mael were fighting—”
