Veria exhaled deeply, the tension in her posture easing just slightly. She placed a hand on her head, rubbing her temples as if trying to shake off the weight of her thoughts. She glanced back at Milo, who was still trembling from the aftershock of her power, his body stiff and bare under her intense gaze.
Shaking her head, she muttered to herself, "Thank the heavens... I was so surprised yesterday by the mana release in his eyes that I smiled. Then I made my own accusations when I was alone..." Her voice trailed off, almost as if she was admitting a weakness, though it was clear she didn't regret the thoroughness of her interrogation.
Milo heard her words, though they were more to herself than to him, and a cold chill crept down his spine. What had she seen yesterday? What had sparked this level of suspicion? His mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening.
"Thankfully," she continued, her voice quieter but still sharp, "he's just wickedly talented. Or about to be consumed by his unique skill."
Milo's heart skipped a beat at the final part of her statement. Consumed by his own skill? He had known there was something different about the way his abilities had been evolving, but to hear that from Veria, of all people, filled him with a growing sense of dread. His exhaustion the day before, the strange influence he had over Lira, the sheer intensity of his actions—it all felt like it was spiraling out of his control.
Veria's eyes were still glowing faintly, but the deadly edge had receded, leaving only her usual sharpness behind. She was still dangerous, but no longer threatening. Her hand dropped from her head, and she seemed to gather herself, her expression hardening as she returned her full attention to him.
"Milo," she said, her voice now more measured, though still laced with authority. "I didn't come here to threaten you, despite what you might think." She stepped closer, and though the sparks had faded, the weight of her presence was still suffocating. "But you need to understand something... if you're not careful, that power of yours will destroy you. It's not just a skill—it's something far more Unique."
Veria took a step back, her gaze piercing into Milo as she weighed her words carefully. "Your power," she began, her tone serious, "has the potential to transform you for the better or for the worse, depending on how you choose to wield it." She let that sink in for a moment before continuing. "If you overuse it, there's a chance it could make you inhuman. Or It could amplify your adaptability and make your desires irresistible—like a charming persuasion."
Milo swallowed hard, the implications of her words settling heavily on his chest. He had always felt there was something about his abilities that set him apart, but to hear Veria articulate it in such stark terms sent a shiver down his spine.
"And that's why I had to strip you down to inspect you," she whispered, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. Her golden eyes softened, if only slightly, revealing a glimmer of concern beneath her earlier intensity. "You're a good kid, Milo. You need to be more aware of everyone as you progress in the academy. Not everyone here has your best interests at heart."
He nodded, a mix of gratitude and unease swirling inside him. Veria continued, her expression shifting, "If you ever find yourself in need, I want you to know you can trust me. I can be someone you come to—not just a teacher, but a mentor. I will look out for you."
There was a sincerity in her tone, a protective note that resonated with Milo. But it was laced with the weight of her earlier interrogation, leaving him unsure of how much to believe.
"And," she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "in these dark times, as humans, we must stick together." The last part slipped out before she could catch herself, and a flicker of vulnerability crossed her sharp features.
Milo felt a warmth stir within him at her words, even as he noted the irony of a teacher—someone typically so distant—offering him such genuine care. The gravity of her warning settled in, reminding him of the precarious balance he needed to maintain.
"Thank you, Veria," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt. "I appreciate it."
She straightened, her expression returning to its usual authoritative demeanor, but he could still sense the shift in their dynamic. He was no longer just a student to her; he was someone she was willing to invest in, even if her way of showing it was wrapped in layers of tension and complexity.
"Just remember, Milo," she said, turning to leave, her golden eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. "You're walking a fine line. Stay aware, and don't let the allure of your power blind you."
With that, she exited the room, leaving Milo alone with a whirlwind of thoughts, the echoes of her warning still resonating in his mind.
_________________________
Once Veria left the room, the silence settled heavily around Milo, wrapping him in a suffocating embrace. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins during her interrogation began to fade, replaced by a wave of exhaustion. He staggered backward, collapsing onto the edge of his bed, his heart racing with the remnants of fear.
His magic, still unstable after the intense encounter, flickered around him like a storm waiting to break. The shimmering energy felt wild and untamed, threatening to escape his control. A sudden wave of emotion crashed over him—panic, dread, and confusion intertwining into a chaotic maelstrom.
*Did she really mean to kill me?* The thought twisted in his mind, and he could still feel the cold grip of her hand on his shoulder, the pain of being slammed against the door. He shuddered, remembering the intensity of her gaze and the electric aura radiating from her. The sharpness in her voice had pierced through him like a dagger, demanding answers he wasn't sure he could give.
As his breathing quickened, Milo tried to calm himself, but the memory of her deadly stare only fueled his panic. *What if I really am different?* The realization that his power could lead to inhumanity gnawed at him. He pressed his palms against his face, trying to ground himself, but it was as if the walls were closing in.
"No, no, no…" he muttered to himself, struggling to find clarity in the chaos. Each breath felt like a battle against the tightening grip of anxiety. He could still feel the remnants of Veria's power lingering in the air, echoing her threats and warnings.
His mind raced with dark possibilities—what if his magic truly was a curse? What if he couldn't control it? The fear of becoming something else entirely, something beyond human, sent him spiraling deeper into panic. His heart thudded violently in his chest, drowning out all rational thought.
With trembling hands, he reached for the edge of the bed, trying to steady himself, but the panic clawed at him relentlessly. He could hear his own heartbeat echoing in his ears, each thump a reminder of how fragile he felt. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to grow larger, twisting into menacing forms that loomed over him.
Milo squeezed his eyes shut, willing the anxiety to dissipate, but it clung to him like a shadow. "Get a grip!" he shouted at himself, desperation lacing his voice. He didn't want to succumb to this, to let his fear overpower him. He needed to find control, to reclaim himself from the brink of despair.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he forced himself to breathe deeply, focusing on each inhalation and exhalation. *Inhale... one, two, three... exhale... one, two, three...* Slowly, the panic began to subside, but the lingering tension remained, a reminder of how close he had come to losing himself.
Milo opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as he lay back against the bed. The weight of Veria's words pressed heavily on his chest, but he was determined not to let them shatter him. He was still here, still breathing, and he had to hold onto that.
"I'm not going to let this control me," he whispered to himself, the conviction building within him. He needed to find a way to harness his magic, to make it his ally rather than his enemy. But the memory of Veria's deadly gaze lingered, a constant reminder of the fine line he walked between power and destruction.
With a deep breath, he sat up again, wiping the remnants of panic from his brow. He needed to regroup, to figure out his next steps. As he stared out the window, the world beyond felt both inviting and intimidating. He would find a way to navigate this—he had to.