Disclaimer:
This work is a piece of fanfiction, created purely for the enjoyment of the fans and not for any monetary benefit.
Rebirth 1.1
The world around me was an unyielding, merciless cacophony. Metal scratched against metal in a blood-curdling chorus that pierced my ears. A sickening odor filled the dark, confined space—a blend of rancid feminine hygiene products and the sharp tang of decayed food.
The moment the locker door had slammed shut, my heart began to race, pounding with wild terror in my chest. Fear surged through my veins, paralyzing and numbing all else. The thin strips of light that squeezed past the slats in the door offered only a glimpse into my horrific reality.
A reality that worsened when I felt them. What seemed like hundreds, perhaps only dozens, of legs skittering across my skin. From my legs to my shoulders, I felt the creatures crawling all over me, and I could almost visualize their gnashing pincers, ready to consume their trapped prey.
This wasn't just a locker; it was a coffin, my mind screamed, pleading for escape. Every instinct implored me to fight, to thrash, to scream, but the walls were unyielding, cold and harsh as the echoing laughter outside.
Can't believe my life has come down to dying in a locker. Talk about setting the bar low
The air thickened, the space seeming to contract. The world spun, and my mind churned, unable to grasp the enormity of my terror—the reality of the bullying I'd been subjected to. I was trapped, not only in this locker but in a living nightmare from which escape seemed impossible.
And then, something snapped.
It wasn't a sound, not really, more the silent shattering of a dam. The taste of despair and dread was replaced by an icy emptiness. Fear gave way to a tranquil void, a blank canvas on which reality was painted anew. The stench, the claustrophobia, the sounds—everything faded away into profound silence.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by... them. Enormous, impossible entities whose forms defied human comprehension.
Fantastic, the inside of my head is a cross between an Escher painting and an alien disco. I always knew I was special
Nebulous giants of energy, thought, and a myriad of alien concepts. I'd call them crystalline in nature, but their forms shifted so much that it caused me a headache. I didn't know how I knew these things were alive, but I KNEW they were. I could feel them.
Unable to blink and stripped of my body, I was merely thoughts floating in an abyss. I took in the sheer size of the entities, their awe-inspiring, terrifying yet oddly benign presence. Further out into the abyss, I could just barely make out the shifting shadows of more of the strange beings.
"Fuck me," I thought as a glowing ball of something— a comet, perhaps— hurtled towards me at an uncomfortable speed. I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Well, Taylor, looks like you're about to get smacked by a cosmic fastball. What a way to go
As it grew larger, I closed my eyes, refusing to witness my imminent demise. But death did not come.
Instead, a tremendous roar ripped through my consciousness as the comet zipped past, barely missing me and heading directly into an entity that had been looming behind me.
Seriously? I couldn't even get hit right
The collision was seamless, like an olympic diver slipping into water with hardly a splash. For a moment, the crystalline entity near me was still. Then it resumed its distortions and moved towards me, faster than one would expect of such a large being.
I stood frozen as the giant crystalline entity rushed towards me. But instead of hitting me, it froze the moment it made contact with my hands.
My eyes widened as it began to glow, a radiance so blinding I couldn't see anything else.
Then, I screamed. The pain was unbearable, worse than anything I'd experienced in the locker. Darkness began to creep in at the edges of my consciousness. Everything became distorted and distant as I writhed in agony. Consciousness slipped away, the encroaching blackness drawing ever closer. I teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.
Distantly, I heard a conversation - voices at once far away and close. As I descended into darkness, I managed to catch their words.
"Goodbye Raava, this is what we want."
The sensation of sandpaper in my mouth bringing me back to consciousness was my first cue that something was amiss. A leaden heaviness pressed on my eyelids, while an odd sense of lethargy clung to my limbs. Did I doze off at the library again? The thought hovered at the edges of my semi-conscious mind, mingling with fragments of dreams and foggy memories.
Trying to swallow, my mouth was filled with the rough texture of cotton balls. A blinding light infiltrated my eyelids, invasive and searing. I screwed my eyes shut even tighter.
With a deliberate inhalation, I wrestled past the discomfort and forced my eyes open. The world flared into existence - a white-hot blaze. I squinted against the fierce radiance, my heart quickening its tempo in my chest. The clinical scent, the droning beep of monitors, the crisp sheets beneath my skin. This is foreign. Neither my room nor the library.
Slowly, my eyes began to adapt to the barrage of light. Forms emerged from the brightness, condensing into rigid lines and recognisable shapes. A hospital room. My heart stuttered in my chest. A hospital room? Seriously?
"Ah, Miss Hebert, you're awake." A voice shattered my thoughts, causing me to jerk my gaze towards its source. A man in a white coat stood beside my bed, a clipboard cradled in his hand. His countenance was a mask of attempted reassurance, but it held a clinical undertone. "Don't be alarmed, you're safe."
Oh, wonderful. Because there's nothing quite as reassuring as awakening in an alien room with zero recollection of how I ended up here, I mentally countered, a flicker of dry humor rising through my unease. I quickly scanned the room, parsing the unsettling details.
"How long…" My voice emerged as a raspy whisper, catching me off guard. I cleared my throat and tried again. "How long have I been here?"
The doctor peered down at his clipboard. "About three days. You were discovered unconscious, suffering from...toxic exposure."
My heart hammered a brutal rhythm. Three days? Poisoned? The last remnants of memory I clung to were of school, the locker. Waves of nausea surged as a reel of terror and embarrassment flooded back. I shoved it aside, narrowing my focus on the doctor.
"Your father is here. Naturally, he's been quite worried, but we restricted visits while we were assessing your condition." His professional facade faltered slightly, a flicker of sympathy surfacing. "Should we bring him in now?"
I swallowed, managing to scrape together a fragment of my voice. "Yes, please. I'd like to see him."
As I waited for my dad, I examined my surroundings with growing dread. The sterility was what one might expect of a hospital, but the isolation chafed at my nerves. This wasn't exactly how I envisioned my week panning out, I internally grumbled.
The door swung open, causing me to swivel my gaze towards the entrance. There stood my dad, his face etched with relief so profound it was almost devastating. I hadn't seen such an expression since the time I got lost at a fair as a kid.
"Taylor," he managed, practically gasping as he dashed over to me. Raw emotion clouded his eyes, evoking a lump in my throat.
"Hey, Dad." I attempted a weak smile, my facial muscles feeling stiff and uncooperative. The words felt inadequate for the gravity of the situation, but what else could I offer?
He reached out, enfolding my hand within his large, work-worn one. His eyes glistened, a sight I hadn't seen since Mom's passing. I returned the pressure of his grip, finding solace in the rough familiarity of his hand.
"Taylor," he stammered, his voice overrun with pent-up relief and simmering anger. "What happened? Who did this to you?"
His questions hit like a punch, leaving me momentarily winded. I knew he was desperate for answers. We were both flailing, trying to extract sense from the nonsensical. I turned away, focusing on the bland, beige expanse of the opposite wall. Would it make a difference if he knew who? What could we even do?
"I don't know, Dad," I confessed quietly, my voice heavy with the unwanted lie. "I don't know who did this."
We lapsed into silence, the monotonous drone of the monitor underscoring the tense stillness of the room. I half expected him to press further, but he didn't. Perhaps he knew better. Perhaps he understood that sometimes, answers only give birth to greater pain.
Not a sound was made until he eventually got up and left with a muttered excuse of needing to go to the washroom.
"So just like that, you're running away?"
The words spilled out of my mouth before I knew what was happening, I was mad, furious even. He didn't get to do this, act all mopey because he couldn't help his bullied teenage daughter. I was the one suffering, I was the one afraid to go to school, I was the one who had lived without a father for the past three years.
"When are you going to stop Dad, When am I going to stop feeling like an orphan"
I froze. I went too far
"Dad…"
His face, my fathers face, was devastated. I felt horrible. Sure he wasn't always there when I needed him, but I wasn't being entirely fair. I never made much effort to talk either.
As I opened my mouth again, going to apologize I cut off as I watched my dad simply get up and walk out the door. Hands clenched to his sides and a slight slouch to his back.
I'm a horrible daughter.
Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. This wasn't me, this wasn't how I dealt with problems. I was strong, resilient. I'd always swallowed my bitterness, kept my feelings on a tight leash. This was unfamiliar territory, a place ruled by the wild swing of rage and regret.
Rage. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into the flesh of my palms. Rage against my father for his constant absences, his inability to be the parent I needed. Rage against myself for pushing him away, for being so cruel. If I hadn't spoken out of anger, he might still be here at least.
The pent-up frustration and anger within me seemed to coalesce into a fiery ball in my chest, screaming for release. As if in a spontaneous act of rebellion, I lashed out with my hand at the small bedside countertop, fully intending to send the cup sitting there into flight.
But my hand never made contact. Instead, a gust of air, invisible yet undeniably real, flew from my fingertips, crashing into the cup and knocking it over, its contents spilling onto the floor with a splash.
In the shock of the moment, I could do nothing but sit there, frozen in my hospital bed, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. That gust, it came from me. The weight of what I'd just done kept me anchored, my mind caught in the headlights of disbelief.
I had lashed out, and the world had moved with me.
A question escaped my lips in a breathless whisper. "Did I…?" But the thought was too outrageous, too fantastical to believe. My heart raced and a desperate hope started kindling within me that maybe, just maybe, everything had happened for a reason.
But I needed to know for sure. With my heart pounding in my chest, I reached out my hand again, pausing for a heartbeat before making a similar swiping motion. This time, nothing happened.
Was I supposed to concentrate? I closed my eyes, unsure of what to focus on. I must look like an absolute fool, I thought, probably hallucinating from stress or meds. I must've actually hit the cup...
And then I felt it. It was everywhere - the air. Twisting, turning, moving in grand spirals and minuscule whirls, its currents constantly colliding in a beautiful, chaotic dance. I could feel the very life of it all, a sense of freedom and beauty I'd never known.
Concentrating on the movements of the air, I willed it to listen to me, to follow my command. Yet as I outstretched my arm, with all my desire pushing to generate a torrent of wind towards the wall, nothing happened.
Aren't powers supposed to be as easy as riding a bike? I thought with a touch of self-deprecation. Okay, I needed to think. I knew I could control the air. I could sense its currents when I concentrated. To confirm, I reached out and sensed the air around me several times over.
It was then it dawned on me - each time I felt the air, I was struck by the beauty of its unpredictable and irrestrainable nature. It didn't accept commands, it moved with a freedom, finding its way around any obstacles.
Maybe that was the key.
Reaching out again, I lifted my arm, a single thought clear in my mind. I haven't been the adventurous sort for a long time, but I'm willing to embark on this journey, if you are. I flicked my hand towards the wall and listened to the music of rustling papers, the symphony of a gust of wind playing across the room.
I had done it. It wasn't a dream or hallucination. The air had obeyed me. Leaning back against my pillow, my mind whirled with the implications. I can control the air.
The fact was both terrifying and empowering. I couldn't alter my current situation, my past mistakes, or my fractured relationships, but I could manipulate the air. It gave me a sense of control in an unsteady world.
As the shock began to fade, I started to experiment, sending small puffs of air skittering across the room with the flick of a finger. They were unrefined, clumsy, but it was a start. Each puff of air, each gust of wind that danced at my command only fueled my determination. I would conquer this power, I would learn to control it. The problems in my life may be beyond my ability to alter, but this? This I could master.
Maybe I was a lousy daughter. Maybe my father was equally lousy at being a dad. Maybe I was a social misfit, the forever-outcast unable to forge friendships. But this...this power was mine. I was a cape. I had abilities beyond the ordinary.
And for the time being, that was enough.
Author's Note:
Thank you all for reading this chapter! Let me know if you're enjoying the story so far, and feel free to ask any questions :)
