My hands trembled, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I must've been hitting close to 38 miles per hour—almost double what I had managed back in school. A grin broke across my face, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. I'd done it. It worked.
But then the pain struck.
Searing agony erupted through my legs, muscles spasming violently. I stumbled, barely managing to stay upright. Every fiber of my body screamed in protest. It wasn't just soreness; it was damage. I bit back a groan, clutching my thighs as my vision blurred.
"Fuck…science."
I forced myself to think through the pain. The human body wasn't built for that kind of speed. Ligaments, tendons, muscles—they all worked within natural limits. Doubling my speed didn't mean my bones and joints magically reinforced themselves. At 38 miles per hour, my legs absorbed over three times the normal impact force. Each stride sent violent shocks up my limbs, threatening to tear muscle from bone. The pain was a brutal reminder.
It made sense now why witches didn't use enhancement magic. The spell itself wasn't flawed; the body was. Without conditioning or protection, pushing past natural limits came with devastating consequences. Maybe my mother had suspected that all along.
Through gritted teeth, I pressed a trembling hand to my thigh.
"Sanare." The healing spell flowed effortlessly, warmth spreading beneath my palm. My anatomical studies had paid off—I understood how to repair the microtears, soothe the inflammation. The pain dulled as the muscles knitted themselves back together. For good measure, I whispered a dulling spell, muting the lingering aches. It was a trick I'd picked up experimenting on animals. No more screams, no more suffering. It worked just as well on myself.
Once the pain subsided, I staggered to my feet, brushing dirt from my hands. Despite everything, I smiled. Failure wasn't the right word for this. It was a lesson—a reminder that magic was as much about understanding limits as it was breaking them.
I returned to my room, grabbing my grimoire. The fresh page gleamed in the light as I began to write, documenting every sensation, every observation. The world of theoretical magic was dangerous, but it was also limitless. Now, I have a deeper understanding of both.
"Next time," I murmured to myself, "But it's about time for school."
Walking into Mystic Falls High felt... off. It wasn't the first day of school or anything, but stepping into the front office to grab my new timetable had me feeling like I was under a spotlight.
Subtle glances. Whispers that died down the second I got close. I didn't need magic to know what they were thinking.
Poor guy. His mom just died.
He's lost weight. Probably grief.
Close, but not quite. My sudden drop in weight had less to do with mourning and more to do with forgetting to eat while buried in research. Priorities. And yeah, the emotional manipulation experiments probably weren't helping my case. A little oxytocin here, a little serotonin there—nothing crazy, just enough to see what worked. Not like I was compelling people. Still, I wasn't an idiot. People could tell something was off.
I moved up in line, letting out a quiet sigh as I grabbed my schedule from the front desk. That's when I felt it. Someone stepping into line behind me. The shift in energy was subtle, but I'd been training my awareness enough to catch it.
I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. Stefan Salvatore. He had that whole broody vampire aesthetic down to a science. And while I was plenty aware of what he was, I wasn't stupid enough to get involved. Whatever drama he brought with him—Elena, Damon, the endless cycle of supernatural angst—it wasn't my problem. Unlike some people, I wasn't eager to play Bonnie Bennett 2.0.
God, Bonnie. She'd had her moments, sure. But being everyone's magical yes-girl? Constantly saving the same people who treated her like a convenience? No thanks. If she'd taken a page from someone like Davina Claire, things might've gone differently. But, of course, Julie Plec wasn't exactly known for doing her witches justice.
I folded my timetable and shoved it into my backpack, sparing Stefan nothing more than a glance before walking away. Whatever ancient vampire business he had going on, it wasn't going to drag me down with it.
Not my circus. Not my undead monkeys.
The hallways buzzed with the usual morning chatter. Lockers slammed shut, groups gathered like clockwork, and the latest drama already spread through the grapevine. The stares didn't stop, though. Some of the braver ones even tried to offer those awkward condolences, like a half-hearted "Sorry about your mom" was supposed to fix everything.
I ignored them, navigating my way to first period. History. Because of course it was.
Sliding into my seat, I pulled out my notebook. The room filled up quickly, and before long, the teacher droned on about some colonial nonsense I'd already learned twice over. Not that I was paying attention. My thoughts drifted back to my mother's notes. Enhancement spells were just the beginning. If I could refine the spell further, maybe add a protection layer—
"Hey," someone whispered, jerking me from my thoughts.
I glanced up. Elena Gilbert. Of course. Because one encounter with the Salvatore brothers wasn't enough for one day.
She gave me that concerned, wide-eyed look. "How are you holding up?"
"Peachy," I deadpanned, turning back to my notes.
But she didn't take the hint. Great.
"I mean it," she pressed, voice soft. "It's... hard, isn't it? Losing someone like that."
I clenched my jaw. "Yeah. Real hard."
She hesitated. "There's a party tonight. Maybe you should come. Get out of your head for a bit."
Across the room, Stefan's gaze flickered toward us. Perfect. Just what I needed. Another reason to regret getting out of bed today.
"Yeah," I muttered under my breath. "Fuck my life."
I felt Elena's eyes still on me, like she was waiting for something more. And despite every bone in my body screaming to shut her down and go back to my notes, I sighed and glanced her way.
"What?"
"I just thought it might help," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Getting out. Being around people."
"Because a kegger with a bunch of drunk teenagers is definitely the cure for grief."
Her lips twitched, like she wasn't sure if she should laugh or scold me. "It's not about that. Sometimes it's just... easier to not think for a while."
"Is that what you're doing?"
She blinked, a little caught off guard. "What?"
"Not thinking."
Elena's face tightened. "I'm trying." Her voice lowered. "After everything with my parents... people thought I should talk, be open about it. But all it did was make it worse. Everyone stares at you like you're made of glass. Like you're supposed to break."
That hit a little too close.
"Yeah. I know the feeling." Two sets of memories are a head fuck.
The teacher droned on in the background, but Elena kept her focus on me. "You know, I've seen you around. Before everything. You were... different."
"Good different or bad different?"
She shrugged. "A little of both. You were always with your team, always pushing yourself."
"Football was..." I trailed off. What was it now? Before, it had been a means to an end. A ticket out. "It was something to focus on."
"And now?"
"Now I've got other things to focus on."
She didn't push, which I somewhat appreciate. But the silence hung.
"You don't have to come," she said finally. "To the party, I mean. I just thought—"
"I'll think about it," I interrupted, just to stop the pity from dripping further into her tone.
She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Okay."
As she turned away, I caught Stefan's eyes on me again, that unreadable vampire stare. Like he was dissecting the conversation in his head, probably already filing me under "potential problem." Fucking Fantastic.
"Seriously," I muttered to myself. "Creep."
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I said this fandom will be on my back and carry I shall now run my POWER STONES!!!!!!!!!
Hope you guys enjoy see you guys next time(P.S typing out all of season 1 or at least our fanfics equivalent so I can get ahead).