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Something was happening to me. Something I couldn't name.
My fingers were tingling. My body trembled.
Fear was rapidly transforming, mingling and merging until it joined forces with something else.
I furled my hands into fists and felt a rush of energy coursing through my veins.
The entire room was suddenly humming with a vibrant, pulsing power.
And I was the center of it all.
My attacker's eyes bulged as he looked at me and for a split-second I wondered how I appeared. He fumbled as he reloaded the crossbow, then raised it again.
I lifted my hands.
I watched the man's face break into a smirk of satisfaction. I understood. He thought I was helpless. That my hands were my only weapon, and that I had raised them in a pathetic gesture of surrender.
I understood, because for a moment, I had believed I was helpless, too.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
The man’s finger moved over the trigger.
I kept my hands steady, still not fully certain what was going on.
A wave of searing heat was filling my palms. There was no pain. Only a strange warmth.
The bolt flew towards me.
Flames erupted from my hands, engulfing the bolt.
It froze in midair, burning like a fiery comet.
I raised my hands higher, crouching low on my knees, and the bolt flew backwards. Back to its home.
I watched my attacker's eyes widen in disbelief as the bolt moved with an even greater force than which it had been discharged, penetrating his leather armor and piercing through the center of his chest.
The armor around the bolt burst into flames.
I watched in horror mixed with fascination as the intruder dropped to the ground, screaming in agony, flailing and writhing.
I could hardly comprehend what was happening.
A commotion came from outside. I leaned around the bed, peering out the bay window, and saw a man dressed in green leathers fighting with one of the attackers across the rooftops.
With a punch to the jaw, he dispatched his opponent and ran across the roof, dodging crossbow bolts and pulling small knives from his belt as he went. He threw them with effortless coordination, never pausing his step. Transfixed, I watched as he took down man after man, moving with incredible grace and speed.
The sound of shattering glass rang out, pieces flying across the room. I ducked and covered my head as the glass fell around me, then glanced back at Draven. The pieces had fallen a few feet away. He didn't appear to have been harmed–by any of this. But it was only a matter of time. We couldn’t stay here. I had to get him out.
I turned my head. A second man had crashed into the room, shattering a window. He didn't spare a glance for his fallen comrade who lay on the floor, body still smoking, and instead lunged towards me, a glinting sword in hand.
I raised a hand, flicking my wrist in a way that reminded me of the movement Laverna had made when she conjured the butterfly. A burst of flames shot out, knocking the man backwards with a scream.
I looked down at my hands. They were untouched. No hint of flame or fire, no smoke, no charred flesh.
What was happening to me?
Whatever it was, it was far beyond Laverna's tricks in the lobby. But unlike her, I felt as if I had little control over it.
