It started with a scream.
Not hers.
---
🧪 The Chemistry Lab
The room buzzed with normal chaos — bubbling solutions, half-read instructions, whispered cheating.
Isha tried to focus, but her head throbbed. Her eyes itched. Her skin felt too tight.
She hadn't slept.
The dream of the dagger still echoed through her bones.
Riya was watching her again. Pretending not to.
Isha turned away.
That's when the beaker dropped.
A sharp crash.
Liquid hissed. Glass clinked onto tile.
In that split second, everything slowed.
The walls shifted. The floor rolled like a wave.
Isha wasn't in the lab anymore.
---
🔥 Flashback — Or Something Worse
She stood in a circle of flame.
Dark-robed figures knelt around her.
In her hands — the ceremonial dagger.
Her own blood ran down the blade.
She looked up.
An unseen god whispered, "Destroy them before they destroy you."
Then the voice was gone.
---
đź’Ą Back to Reality
A deafening boom rang out.
Every beaker in the lab shattered at once — like something had exploded without sound.
The air cracked. Lights above popped and burst in a series of blue sparks. The whiteboards warped. Papers flew.
Everyone screamed.
The fire alarm shrieked. Someone tripped over a desk.
In the center of it all stood Isha.
Frozen. Still. Eyes wide — glowing black rimmed with violet.
Power radiated off her like invisible heatwaves. Her breath came in short, terrified gasps.
And for a moment, no one moved.
Except Mrs. Fernandes — who calmly reached for the emergency switch and flipped it.
The lights died.
---
🧬 The Evacuation
"Everyone out! Gas leak, go, go!" the teacher ordered.
No one argued.
Students shoved and stumbled into the corridor.
Only Isha remained, backed into the corner.
Mrs. Fernandes met her gaze one last time.
But her eyes weren't afraid.
They were… satisfied.
---
🏠Later That Evening
Isha sat on the cold bathroom floor, knees pulled to her chest.
She had been quiet all day. No one questioned it.
Even Aarav gave her space — something in her aura warned him not to.
She turned toward the mirror.
Her reflection stared back — eyes now dimmed to a swirling gray.
The color of fear.
> What have I done?
> What am I becoming?
She remembered the power. The way the glass obeyed her rage. The lights responded to her panic.
Not like magic.
Like instinct.
And worse — she hadn't tried.
She had lost control.
---
đź–¤ Journal Entry
I thought power would feel good. Like justice. Like freedom.
But this? This felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, with fire behind me and nothing ahead.
The dagger in my dreams. The glowing eyes. The voice
in my skull. None of it is fantasy.
It's inside me. Always has been.
> And I'm scared to death of what happens if I stop fighting it.