Silver Eyes | Nico di Angelo

Chapter 1: I Play Tag With a Flaming Ball of Gas

Chapter 1: I Play Tag With a Flaming Ball of Gas

Running around in the burning school and being chased by a flaming ball of gas wasn't on my bucket-list.

Well, stating the obvious, of course.

Technically, I was supposed to climb out a window or something, but it wasn't a very technical fact that the windows refused to open and that the bricks of the school were literally on fire. Nor was it technical that the fire was silver. Or that the fire was literally chasing me.

The interior of my school was dark now, like the outside night. The custodians and teachers and students had left the school a long time ago. Funny thing, it didn't seem to be a coincidence that I had been the last one at school. After my meeting with my counselor who monitored my learning, I had tried to get out -- and then the fire started.

I had been running for at least ten minutes by now. It was hard to explain how the fire worked...well, I didn't really know how. The only thing I knew was that the flames didn't seem to burn down anything, so at least I wasn't in the danger of being buried under tons of rubble. Instead, they chased me -- literally.

The hallway I was currently running down was dark, but it was only a matter of time before the fire caught up to me. It seemed to have a mind of its own, and the only thing on its "mind" was to catch me. Unfortunately.

The hallway lit into a brilliant silver colour as flames appeared from the other side. It gave an eery glow. It wasn't like typical fire, warm, comforting -- this was a cold kind of light, like moonlight. I turned down another corridor. There, I found a set of stairs that led to the second floor, which I took gladly, hoping that either the weird fire couldn't climb stairs or it would take a while so I could catch my breath.

I never meant to crash into the boy, nor did the boy ever mean to crash into me. But without the fire, the light of the flame, I couldn't see anything, or maybe, the faint outline of a person in the dark didn't click into my brain fast enough, because I smashed into whoever it was while trying to run. My only thoughts the past ten minutes had been to try to find an escape exit and run, so I did a double take when I smashed into a human body.

It took me about ten seconds to respond. "Are you real?"

The other person didn't reply, making me wonder if they were 'real', but there was the hoarse screeching of metal against metal before something cool and sharp was pressed against my neck. A cold hand encircled my arm in a tight grip. The voice that whispered in my ear was low and dangerous and it made me gulp -- did this really have to happen to me all in one day? I didn't have to see to know that the thing pressed against my neck was a weapon of some sort. But seriously, who would go around decapitating people these days?

"Who are you?" It was a guy, I could tell by the voice. He sounded about my age, possibly a little older, or about the same. From the faint outline of his body, I gave a wild guess that he was a lot taller than me. He was barely yelling, talking quietly, but there was a quiet sort of dangerous and demanding intimacy in his voice that made me immediately want to curl up in a ball and melt into the ground.

In fact, I was so lost in thinking about that that I forgot to answer his question. "Who. Are. You," the guy asked again. His voice held the slightest hint of agitation, but it was still controlled. The sharp edge of his blade dug deeper into my neck -- not enough to draw blood, but enough to hurt and make me want to flinch away -- if I could.

"C-Clara," I stammered, and I heard my friend next to me huff in irritation.

"What are you, then?" His voice was still calm, monotone with almost no emotion, just a subtle touch of threat in them.