Waking up felt less like rising from slumber and more like resurfacing from a deep, dark ocean. My eyes snapped open, staring at the unfamiliar wooden beams of the ceiling. For a solid ten seconds, I didn't move. I just lay there, listening to the silence of the West Wing, trying to piece together who I was and why my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool.

  I sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around my waist.

  "What the hell happened the past few days?" I whispered into the cool morning air.

  My brain supplied the answer in a rapid-fire montage of humiliation: The banishment. The arrival. The "Family" speech. The bathroom incident. The nose. The milk.

  I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "It’s real. It’s all real. I am living in a sitcom written by a sadist."

  I dragged myself out of bed and started to dress. As I pulled on the grey Academy tunic, I felt a familiar, unsettling hum beneath my skin.

  Magic.

  I had magic. That was undeniable. But it wasn't like the clean, disciplined mana of the nobles back home. It didn't flow like a river; it surged like a tide. It was undefined, raw, and undisciplined. It was the reason my eyes glowed green when I was angry. It was the reason I was here, and not in a finishing school for polite young ladies.

  "Control," I muttered, staring at my hands. "Just keep it in the box, Valerie. Don't let it leak."

  I walked into the common room. It was surprisingly quiet.

  Roc-ta was there, sitting on the floor and aggressively brushing her tail with a comb that looked like a garden rake.

  "Morning," I mumbled. "Where is... the other one?"

  I didn't want to say his name.

  Roc-ta didn't look up. "The Grump? He left twenty minutes ago. I asked him where he was going, and he just growled at me."

  "He growled?"

  "Yeah. A real deep, chesty one. Said: 'Away from here.' Then he slammed the door. He seemed... tense."

  "Good," I said, grabbing an apple. "I hope he stays away."

  POOF.

  A cloud of golden sparkles exploded in the air right in front of my nose.

  I yelped, jumping back.

  Floating in the air was a scroll tied with a black ribbon. It hovered, waiting.

  "Mail call!" Roc-ta chirped. "That’s the official scheduling scroll! Open it! Open it!"

  My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. The moment of truth.

  I reached out and grabbed the scroll. The parchment felt cold, like dead skin. I untied the ribbon. The scroll unrolled itself with a snap.

  COURSE SPECIALIZATION: CONFIRMED

  I scanned the list. I looked for the safe options. I looked for the things I wanted.

  But my eyes were drawn inexorably to the bottom of the page. To the bold, red letters that seemed to drip ink like blood.

  I stopped breathing.

  I stared at the words. I read them once. Twice. Ten times.

  "No," I whispered. "That’s impossible."

  "What is it?" Roc-ta asked, trying to peek. "Did you get Battlemagic? Potions?"

  I snapped the scroll shut instantly, clutching it to my chest. My hands were shaking.

  "It's... fine," I lied, my voice sounding shrill. "It's just... a mistake. A mistake!."

  But I knew it wasn't a mistake. The magic of the scroll was binding.

  Fear, cold and sharp, clawed at my stomach. It wasn't just the fear of a difficult class. It was a deeper, older fear.

  It brought back memories I had spent years trying to bury under layers of silk and noble etiquette. Memories of the time before the King adopted me.

  The cold streets. The shadows in the alleyways. The whispers of things that lived in the dark—things that people like me, street rats with weird eyes, were supposed to belong to.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Demon child.

  The insult from my childhood echoed in my ears.

  "I can't go there," I thought, panic rising in my throat. "I can't be around them."

  But the scroll burned against my chest. Attendance was mandatory. Failure meant expulsion. Expulsion meant the streets.

  I grabbed my bag.

  "I have to go," I said abruptly.

  "Wait! Val! What class do you have?"

  I didn't answer. I couldn't.

  I walked out the door, leaving the warmth of the dorm behind, and headed for the stairs that led down into the dark.

  The walk to the classroom was a descent into madness. The air grew heavy, smelling of sulfur and ozone.

  When I finally reached the double iron doors, I hesitated. My hand hovered over the cold metal handle.

  "Just breathe," I told myself. "It's a classroom. Just a classroom."

  I pushed the door open.

  It wasn't a classroom. It was a dungeon.

  The room was an amphitheater carved from black stone, lit by flickering purple torches. And it was full.

  I scanned the rows of seats.

  Horns. Scales. Glowing eyes. Shadowy forms that smoked and writhed. There were Orcs sharpening knives. Dark Elves whispering incantations. Tieflings with tails flicking impatiently. But one thing was missing.

  Humans.

  There wasn't a single other human in the room. I felt the blood drain from my face. Is the hatred really this deep? I wondered. Is the divide between us and them so absolute that no human dares to step foot in here?

  I stood in the doorway, paralyzed. I felt like a lamb that had wandered into a slaughterhouse.

  "Well, well."

  The voice cut through the murmuring like a knife.

  I looked toward the front row.

  Demian.

  He was sitting there, looking bored, until he saw me. His expression shifted instantly. Surprise flickered in his purple eyes, followed by confusion, and then... a slow, wicked realization.

  He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a predator finding prey on its territory.

  He stood up. The sound of his chair scraping against the stone echoed in the silent room.

  He walked up the stairs towards me. Slow. Deliberate. Every step said: You are mine now.

  "To think," he drawled, his voice echoing off the walls, "that you would dare to come here, Red."

  I took a step back. My back hit the door.

  THUD.

  I was trapped.

  Demian didn't stop. He stepped right into my personal space. He slammed his hand against the door, right next to my head, boxing me in.

  He loomed over me, blocking out the light. He smelled of danger and dark magic.

  "Let me go," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound brave.

  "Hahahaha," Demian laughed softly, a dark, rich sound that grated on my nerves. "Why?"

  He leaned down. His lips brushed against the shell of my ear.

  "First the arrival gate," he whispered. "Then the Men's Room.And . And now... this?"

  He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. His gaze was intense, mocking.

  "If I didn't know better," he smirked, "I would say you are stalking me, Red."

  "NO!"

  The word ripped out of my throat.

  "You are delusional!" I spat, my fear turning into anger. "You are just an arrogant, over-inflated bully! Nothing more!"

  I pressed my back against the wood, trying to put distance between us, but he didn't budge.

  I had to think. I had to show him show everyone that I wasn't just a scared little girl. I had to prove that this wasn't a mistake. If I admitted it was an accident, I would be the laughingstock of the school.

  "Pff," I scoffed, forcing my eyes to lock onto his. My green irises began to glow, reacting to my emotion.

  "I am here because I choose to be," I lied, my voice gaining strength. "I came to this school to learn everything. New things. Dangerous things. And yes, that includes Demonology!"

  A rumble went through the classroom. The other students were whispering now. They hadn't expected the human to fight back.

  Demian didn't back down. He stared into my eyes, searching for the lie. He looked like he was trying to dissect my soul, looking for a spark, or perhaps a weakness.

  He reached out.

  His long, pale fingers brushed a lock of my red hair. He didn't pull it. He just held it, testing the texture.

  It was a violation. It was intimate and terrifying.

  "So," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "You are here to learn about my people? You want to study us? How dare you Human! To think you would come here and think you could do it. Think you can study the arts of demonology. "

  I snapped.

  The arrogance, the touching, the sheer entitlement it was too much.

  "Don't touch me!"

  I slapped his hand away.

  "I am not here for you!" I hissed, my voice dripping with venom. "Stop flattering yourself! You think the world revolves around you? Let me go, you dirty, underhanded, good-for-nothing little demon!"

  The insults hung in the air.

  Demian laughed. It was a loud, genuine laugh of disbelief.

  He took a step back, giving me space. He spread his arms wide, addressing the silent room.

  "You hear that?" he announced to the class. "My roommate has claws."

  The silence in the room was heavy. Suffocating.

  It was Men vs. Demons. It had always been that way. It was in our blood to hate each other. And here I was, a human with pink skin and red hair, standing in their sanctuary, insulting their Prince.

  My face burned. Not with shame, but with pure, unadulterated rage. I felt like I was going to explode.

  "You know nothing about me!" I shouted at him, stepping forward away from the door. I poked him in the chest. "Nothing!"

  Demian looked down at my finger on his chest. His smile faded. His eyes grew cold.

  "And you know nothing of this world, human," he replied softly.

  "You Animal!" I screamed.

  The echo of my shout rang off the stone walls.

  BOOM.

  BOOM.

  The floor shook.

  The argument died instantly. Demian looked toward the front of the room. I froze.

  Heavy, rhythmic thuds echoed from the shadows behind the professor's desk.

  BOOM.

  A massive figure stepped into the light.

  He was huge. At least eight feet tall. His skin was the color of dried mud, and massive, curling horns protruded from his forehead. But it was his feet that made the noise.

  Massive, iron-shod hooves.

  Professor Grogar.

  He snorted, a plume of smoke erupting from his nostrils. He slammed a book the size of a tombstone onto the lectern.

  "Silence," he rumbled. His voice sounded like boulders grinding together in an earthquake.

  He looked at Demian. Then he looked at me.

  "Sit down," Grogar ordered. "Before I use you both as bookcovers! ."

  Demian shot me one last look a look that promised this conversation wasn't over and sauntered back to his seat.

  I hated him. I hated the way this class looked at me.

  But as I hold my notebook with trembling hands, I realized one terrifying truth.

  I was trapped. And the beast had me right where he wanted me.

  Dammit!