We found her three days ago.
We watched her die, resurrect as a phoenix, and fall to the ground in a heap of limbs.
I thought it was just shock, we all did, but four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes is too long.
The medical team insists it’s natural, but they don’t know that from experience. Their knowledge comes from textbooks since there has never actually been a phoenix at Neverbound Academy.
Exhaling, I drop my hand from my face and slump back in my seat as I pry my eyes open, reaccepting my current reality.
Ivy is a phoenix.
Of all the things in the world, and as obscure as they can get, I didn’t think it would be that.
Crammed into Ivy’s private suite, the white-washed walls are giving me a migraine. She sleeps softly in the center of the room, surrounded by the rest of us, while Hugo marches back and forth in front of her bed. Give it another hour and he’ll take someone’s seat, giving them an opportunity to expend some energy.
No one is going home and leaving her here alone. We’ve had that conversation enough times in the last seventy-two hours. This seems to be our compromise, which is a strong word since we’re all high on adrenaline, running on no sleep, and cranky as hell.
It doesn’t help that we’re all still processing this new turn of events. On top of the fact that Ivy has been blessed with a rare form of magic, there’s also her father and Leonardo Corrigan, the leader of the Second Kingdom, to consider.
My rage threatens to burn to the surface, but I take a deep breath, saving it for when the time comes. Instead, I focus on Ivy.
Our mate.
Our phoenix.
No one has really spoken on the matter, but there’s a new energy in the air. Be it curiosity or wonder, it tethers us to her even more.
But all that matters right now is her wellbeing, and her ability to open her damn eyes.
A flash of red flitting past catches my attention, and I fixate on Ember for a moment, watching as she nervously darts around the room, pausing by Ivy’s bed for a moment before returning to her spot on the windowsill. Ivy’s sprite is as stubborn as the rest of us, and her sass is on another level, so I appreciate her being quiet for the past few hours.
Looking past her, I shift my gaze to the gray weather outside the window. The midafternoon sun is nonexistent behind the thick cluster of clouds. Rain patters against the glass, all rhythmic and melodic, but it’s quickly enhanced by the grumble of thunder and a flash of lightning.
I glance at Hugo from the corner of my eye. The weather outside is his doing; we all know it. If he’s aware of it, he doesn’t pay it any attention, but he has the ability to control storms, and this one is most definitely linked to his current state of despair.
As if on cue, he clenches his hands and lets out a sigh, and the sky outside somehow manages to darken further.
Footsteps outside the room snap my attention away from the abysmal weather as shadows cast through the small window in the door, but they disappear just as quickly. I can’t decide whether it’s a good or bad thing that they’re practically ignoring us. If Ivy were in danger, they would be in here more, monitoring and testing, but as it stands, they’re happy to let her sleep.
Unlike the rest of us.
Another sigh escapes my lips as I shuffle in my seat, the cushioned chair beneath me no longer offering any comfort while the room remains thick with dread.
“They should have run some more tests by now,” Archer states, dragging a hand down his face, and Hugo scoffs.
“There’s no use for observations. She just needs to wake up. We can observe her ourselves. We’ve been doing a good job of it already,” he grumbles, and Baron grunts.
Tensions run high as the atmosphere remains stilted, hanging on Ivy’s next breath and eyes opening, but instead of drawing us all together, it feels like it’s slicing us into pieces. All because we can’t regulate ourselves the second we feel a lack of control.
“They still have a job to do, and they should be doing it,” Ember declares from her spot by the window, and Teddy nods in agreement, ruffling his messy hair as he purses his lips.
“Are we going to discuss what’s going to happen when she wakes up?” he asks, his fingers running over the bandage secured around his arm. He cut himself breaking through the door that stood between us and Ivy’s lifeless body, and refuses to have someone heal it until she’s awake.
“She just needs to wake up. Surely there’s a way to give her a nudge,” Baron mutters, and Hugo scoffs.
“We don’t know what she’s going to wake up like. They’ve told us that,” Hugo reiterates, spiking the tension in the room as the doctor’s words from the first day engulf the room once more.
“To the best of our knowledge, we know that each phoenix has their own recovery pattern. No two are alike. Memory distortion is highly likely. To what degree, we don’t yet know, but she may also suffer from the likes of emotional instability and physical exhaustion. We must show patience and nurturing. These things take time. She just died, recovering from that isn’t usually an option for most, be thankful that it is for her.”
