I woke up the next Sunday morning feeling extremely sick and overheated. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, and I felt as if I were wrapped in a heavy blanket even though I wasn’t covered by anything. I didn’t even want to get out of bed. Struggling to sit up straight, I glanced at the small clock on the table beside my bed. Damn! It was already 10:00 a.m.! Why hadn’t Daniel woken me up like he usually did?
Sunlight filtered through my curtains, casting patterns of light on the floor, but even that seemed blinding. I tried to get out of bed, but as soon as I stood up, I almost fell over. My legs felt numb, and I could feel heat rising from my feet, spreading through my entire body in waves, like fire snaking up my veins. “Oh my God,” I muttered, feeling unbearably hot. I grabbed the table to steady myself and looked at the picture of my mother, her eyes seeming to look back at me with concern. “Give me strength,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “What’s happening to me?”
The sensation was all too familiar, mirroring the burning I’d felt in my dream. I wanted to scream, but my throat was dry, and no sound came out. I looked at my mother’s picture again, and as if her image triggered something, memories of her telling me to leave the house, abandoning me to a man I hardly knew, came flashing back, each one sharper and more painful than the last. Anger welled up inside me, fiercer than I’d ever felt before, and tears began to blur my vision. The air around me felt thicker, heavier.
I closed my eyes and let out the loudest scream I could manage, feeling the intense heat rising to my face. My tears burned like boiling water as they trickled down my cheeks, each drop leaving an invisible scar. What was wrong with me? Reality hit like a slap to the face—I was truly dying, and no one could save me.
When I opened my eyes, Daniel was there, shaking me, his voice frantic. “Prisca, stop! Please, snap out of it!” I stopped screaming, but I couldn’t stop shaking or crying. Even though the pain was still coursing through me, I managed to look at him. He was holding a large jar, though it was clear there was no water in it, only air.
“Priscilla, what’s going on with you? What in the world do you think you’re doing?” His tone was panicked, and he glanced around the room as if expecting something terrible to happen.
What was he talking about? Couldn’t he see that I was in agony? I struggled to speak, the words caught in my dry throat, but I was furious at him for even asking such a question. “What do you mean?” I finally choked out, my breathing ragged. I saw confusion and anger swirling in his eyes, like a storm barely held back.
“Why did you burn your mother’s picture, Prisca?”
My eyes widened at his words, and I turned to where the picture had been. All that remained was a pile of ashes, still smoldering, with faint wisps of smoke rising from them. Even the small wooden table had burnt to a crisp, its edges charred black. I was speechless. How was this even possible? The room smelled faintly of burnt wood and something else—something I couldn't identify, but it sent a chill down my spine.
“I... I didn’t... I didn’t do that. I swear I didn’t,” I stammered, but Daniel simply stood up, glaring at me, his gaze piercing. Yet, as quickly as his anger came, it softened, and he knelt beside my bed. His eyes changed from fierce to kind, and for a moment, I wondered if he was wrestling with emotions I couldn't begin to understand.
“It’s okay... It’s okay,” he said, his voice gentle now, almost tender. “I know you’re not feeling well right now. Why don’t you take a cold shower? I’ll be back with something to lower your fever.” He placed the palm of his hand on my forehead, his touch cooler than I expected, checking my temperature. It felt like I was a furnace inside. Maybe I was coming down with something terrible, something that had no name.
I just nodded, still dazed. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t asking how I had managed to burn the picture without setting the entire room on fire. I watched him leave, his footsteps fading as he closed the door behind him. I stood up again, surprised that I could actually feel my legs this time, though they still trembled.
I scanned the room, looking for any matches or a lighter, some evidence that I’d done this myself, but there was nothing. All I remembered was staring at the picture in anger, and then… nothing. I needed to talk to someone who might understand, someone who wouldn’t dismiss me. “Bryan!” I said to myself. He always had a way of listening, of seeing things others didn’t. I grabbed my phone and quickly sent him a message to come over *ASAP*. My hands shook as I typed, and I could still feel a faint warmth radiating from my skin.
**Daniel**
Downstairs, I hurriedly pulled out my phone. I needed to call my mother, Elizabeth, before things got even more out of hand. I strained my hearing to make sure Prisca had actually turned on the shower. It was one of my many gifts—my heightened sense of hearing. I dialed my mother’s number, and as if she’d been waiting, she answered instantly.
“Hello, Daniel. Has she received her gift yet?”
How did she always know? I didn’t want to ask too many questions; now wasn’t the time. “When are you sending her protector, Mother? Prisca needs her guide immediately. She has to learn to control her gift before it’s too late. You know everything must be revealed soon, and the Hidden need their protector as soon as possible.” I tried to keep the urgency from cracking my voice.
My mother sighed softly, and I could almost picture her closing her eyes. “He is already there, Daniel. Don’t worry. She has all the help she needs.”
“Who is it, Mother?” I demanded, more sharply than I intended. It was just like her to keep secrets, even from her own son.
“You will find out soon,” she replied, and before I could ask anything else, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, frustration boiling over. I had the right to know who was supposed to protect my daughter. Who was the person she was entrusting with such a crucial task? “Damn it, Mother...” I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of the world settling heavily on my shoulders.