Chapter 130
Ellie POV
The headache hits without warning.
One second I’m copying notes off the board, half-listening to the lecture about restorative flow patterns, and the next it feels like something sharp has been driven straight through my skull.
I freeze, pen hovering mid-word, breath catching as the pain pulses hot and insistent behind my eyes.
I blink hard.
Okay? Ow?
Was it that time of the month? No. That was two weeks ago so…
Have I drank?
I glance at my water bottle next to me. Near empty.
No…okay. Weird. But focus.
I keep writing.
I tell myself it’s nothing. Maybe lack of sleep. Stress. A consequence of thinking too much about things I don’t want to think about. Maybe even my brain got jossled last night.
But as the ache persists, I reach into my bag, fish out a couple of painkillers, and dry-swallow them like I’ve done a hundred
times before.
Only, an hour in and, they don’t help.
If anything, the pain blooms wider, spreading down the back of my neck, curling into my stomach until nausea settles there like
a stone.
My forehead feels sticky, pits wet. The professor’s voice starts to blur, syllables stretching and slipping past me no matter how hard I try to focus.
Did I catch a bug?
By the time the bell rings, my notes are useless. I barely remember standing up.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter to no one in particular, a girl beside me pausing, though she’s already packing up, and I slip out of the room.
The bathroom tiles are cold under my palms as I lean over the sink, splashing water onto my face again and again.
My reflection looks wrong.
Gods, I have’t felt this…bad since I was stabbed, posion and died.
I rubbed my face. Skin too pale, eyes a little unfocused, like I’m not fully anchored in my own body.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself.
The pain doesn’t listen.
It throbs harder, pressure building until it feels like my head might crack open. I grip the edge of the sink and wait for the wave to pass.
Come on. I got shit to do.
+30 Bonus
It doesn’t care.
The bell rings again, feeling way to loud.
By the time afternoon rolls around and we’re gathered to observe the Management students during their mock training sessions, I feel like I’m walking underwater. Heat prickles across my skin, sweat dampening the back of my neck despite the cool air in the hot training arena.
I can feel myself sway, trying to stay upright, sweat dripping down my cheek.
“Ellie?”
I flinch at my name and glance toward the instructor, forcing myself upright. My vision swims briefly, the room tilting before it steadies again.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
“I didn’t ask?” He scoffs, “You ready to treat an injury if one occurs?”
I put a thumb up.
I shift my weight, focus on breathing, on not drawing attention to myself as the exercises begin. This sharp clang of practice weapons echoes through the hall, jarring me, each sound vibrating uncomfortably in my skull.
My stomach rolls. I clutch it.
Then there’s a shout, a stumble, and the instructor’s voice cuts through the noise.
“Healer!”
I look up just in time to a blur of a shadow approaching me. They’re tall, looming, stepping back from the ring, a shallow scratch visible along his arm where the practice blade caught them
I push myself forward, ignoring the way my legs feel unsteady beneath me. The student watches me approach, and I wonder why he stops for far from me.
“Come here,” I take his arm gently, trying to work through the blur as I pull it close. “Y-” my voice fails. I clear my throat. ” You’ll be fine.”
“I know,” he says lightly and I freeze. “I’ve had worse.”
My gaze snaps up.
Dominic?
He’s a blur against the hot sun, but I can still make out those stoic eyes.
I huff weakly, more out of habit than humor, and place bandages over the wound. The movement familiar, soothing.
But something’s wrong.
The energy in my movement stutters, a strange resistance pushing back against me. My head pulses sharply, pain flaring so bright it steals my breath.
Dominic’s lowers a bit. “Ellie?”
I try to answer him. I really do.
The room tilts violently, the sounds around me stretching and warping as black spots crowd the edges of my vision. My hands slip from his arm, fingers numb.
“I think-“I manage, and then the floor rushes up far too fast.
2/3
+30 Bonus
The last thing I’m aware of is Dominic’s hands catching me, his voice cutting through the chaos, alarmed,, as everything goes
dark.
Comments
Support
Share
