Page 4 of Fated for Flames
That person was gone, her naivety burned away by betrayal and rebirth. In her place stood someone stronger, wearier, and infinitely lonelier.
Leaving the comfort of my dorm room behind, I squared my shoulders and stepped out into the world that had so brutally cast me aside. Going back in time a year meant I’d be repeating my third year at the academy, with another two years to go until graduation. Lia and I were the same age, but being in advanced classes meant we didn’t share many of them, which was now a blessing in disguise. Our class structure, for the most part, was based primarily on magical strength rather than age.
The academy was awake now, the once quiet halls bustling with life. Whispers echoed around me, students darting past in a flurry of uniforms. I grabbed an apple in the cafeteria, dartingglances around the room and doing my best to avoid engaging with anyone. It had only been a year, yet the academy felt like a world paused in time, waiting for me to slot back into a life that no longer fit me.
Heading to my first class, the corridors of the academy seemed to reverberate with the whispers of my past self. The walls, adorned with the achievements of those who had walked these halls before me, now seemed to scrutinize my return, aware of the secrets I carried within me.
I chose a seat at the back of our Witch Heritage class, a vantage point from which I could watch and listen.
The lecture started, and Professor Marlowe’s voice filled the room, a familiar cadence that had once held my attention. Now it seemed dull and useless; why did we need to learn about our history if it had been all a lie? At least that was what the dark, mysterious voice had said. I found myself observing my classmates, seeing their interactions with a new wariness, wondering who else wanted me dead. And more importantly, why?
As the class dispersed, I gathered my things and headed to my second lecture. It was then that I saw her, Lia. She was a beacon of light in the sea of faces. Her bright blonde hair sparkled with shine, though I knew it was just spelled to make it lush and beautiful. Nevertheless, she was the epitome of beauty. Her easy smile, the carefree laughter, her beautiful gray eyes—she was the queen bee, and everyone flocked to her.
My heart clenched at the sight of her, the girl who had once been my best friend, my sister in all but blood.
She was laughing, surrounded by a throng of admirers, all hanging on her every word. Once upon a time, I would have been among them, drawn to her natural charisma that effortlessly captivated other witches in our coven. She thrived inthe spotlight, while I was content to follow, happy to exist in her shadow.
I’d never cared about the glory or power that came with being a witch of our coven. In truth, I felt more at home in the library among books than I did at any coven gathering or celebration.
I’d allowed myself to fall back, let Lia shine in the way she so desperately wanted. Because I knew how much it meant to her. How much it hurt her that she wasn’t as powerful as her mother. It was a constant source of stress for her, an unspoken expectation that hung over her like a dark cloud.
Whenever anyone mentioned my power, which surpassed even the matriarch’s, I’d downplayed it. Even if my golden eyes were an indication of the exact opposite. The spotlight hadn’t been important to me.
But making Lia happy? That had meant everything.
So I’d willingly dimmed my light for her sake.
Now things were different.
I couldn’t afford to be the same Evelyn who’d let others walk over her, who’d always put others first to the point of self-destruction.
That girl was gone, replaced by a woman ready to fight. Ready to reclaim her power. Even though I couldn’t use my magic without draining my life force, I was eager to do everything I could to change my fate.
As I watched Lia, a pang of loss for our once-shared friendship surged through me. Though part of me wanted to lash out, demand answers, or simply ignore her, I knew I had to be strategic. Which meant playing her own game.
I slipped out of the hall before she could see me, my hands sweating and my heartbeat increasing to the point I thought I would have a panic attack. Seeing Lia was a stark reminder of the inevitable confrontation that lay ahead.
But as I walked away, a quiet strength settled over me. I had faced death and returned; I could face the demons of my past too, even if the devil had shiny, luscious blonde hair.
4
Evelyn
Iskipped my next class, opting for a visit to the counselor. With a careful hand, I decided to switch some of my classes. I chose subjects that would broaden my understanding and skills in areas that didn’t demand so much of my magical energy. After all, I had attended those classes in another life. They did nothing to protect me from what was coming. I needed to learn how to defend myself and find out more about my lineage, my powers, and how to use magic without tapping into my life force.
Among the new classes I signed up for, Tactical Defense Training had caught my interest. It was something entirely new to me, a discipline that focused on physical strength, agility, and non-magical weapons.
Attending a class like that was both daunting and exhilarating. Mostly apex shifters took that class. They were naturally strong and fast, which made keeping up with them a scary thought, especially since it grouped students of all skilllevels together. Never in a million years would the old Evelyn have signed up for something so physical, especially given its popularity with shifters. But if I was to protect myself and possibly confront those who had betrayed me, I needed to be prepared in every way possible.
To balance my training, I switched from Advanced Magical Powers and opted for Herbalism and Potions.
Magic had always been my forte, my instinctive response to any challenge. But my potions skills? Historically, they were somewhere between disastrous and “please evacuate the building.”
Since casting spells now felt like playing Russian roulette with my life force, improving my weakest skills became a priority. Herbalism and Potions offered another kind of power, one that didn’t always rely on sheer magical strength but rather on the precision of ingredients and the knowledge of their combined interactions. It was time to expand my arsenal and embrace the meticulous art of potion-making. And, hopefully, to do so without blowing up the academy.
I only left the counselor’s office after having all the necessary paperwork and approvals from the principal to change my classes. I was that desperate.
I felt happy for the first time that day as I walked back to my dorm room with my new schedule and the new books assigned to me by the librarian.
