Year 1020 D.E.

  Keshiema rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. She wasn't ready to face the day, but her alarm buzzed loudly. She slammed a fist against the stainless-steel clock's "alarm" button, ordering it to "Shut the hell up."

  "Damn it all." She crawled out of bed. Looking in her closet, she frowned. "Pft. Stupid uniform. And I used to think they looked cool?" Blowing some stray hair away from her face, Keshiema grabbed one of the four identical uniforms hanging in her closet. "I stayed up way too damn late last night." She yawned, rubbing her eyes with the back of her free hand. "Stupid birthday. Stupid Mondays. Stupid exam."

  Snapping her head up, Keshiema looked at the clock for the first time. "My test!" She pulled on her black Assassin's Training Garbs. Looking at the like-new boot at the bottom of her closet, she scoffed. “Fat chance.” She ran towards the main campus, Tightening the seemingly useless straps of her A.T.G.’s together. "How the hell did I sleep through that annoying buzzing for an hour?" She pulled a glove on, buckling it to her sleeve.

  Her heart stopped as she felt the pockets of yesterday's clothes for her key. "Agh! What did I do with it?" She chided herself for forgetting. Lightly tapping her temples with her fiesta she demanded her brain to "Think, think, think!"

  "Ah! I gave it to Cress!" Looking around, she thought about where he would have her it. Her eyes landed on her side table. Sure enough, there was her key. Next to it, however sat something she did not recognize; a small velvet box. Sighing, she picked it up, opening it to find a thin but sturdy white chain. "Taveran Steel? Damn it, Cress, I'm not worth this." Knowing trying to refuse the gift was pointless, she quickly swapped it out with the threadbare frayed cord holding her crescent moonstone pendant.

  The first bell rang loudly through the campus as she slipped out of the dorm. "No! Damnit all.” She cursed at herself, running inhumanly fast across the large campus. Making the half-mile in less than a minute, she sat down at her desk, pulling taut the last strap of uniform just in time for the final bell.

  The classroom door creaked open slowly, and an Ogre-Daemon walked in. Each student jumped out of their seat and stood at attention. All except for one. Keshiema stole a glance at the sole student sitting slumped in his chair. His ragged uniform needed a wash, his uncombed green hair stood at odd angles, and he was missing a glove. "Cresil!" Keshiema hissed telepathically. His head snapped up, and he looked questioningly around the room. "Stand up!”

  Immediately, he stood at attention. “Yes, Ma’am!”

  The whole class erupted in laughter around them. Keshiema’s hair and eyes turned an orangey coral. Heat flushed her cheeks.

  "That is not persuasion!" the professor spoke loudly. As soon as the first syllable left his lips, the classroom fell silent. "That, Keshiema, was an invasive command. Now, get ahold of yourself. Orange is not a good color on you.”

  "Yes, Professor Naberius." She stared at the floor. With a few deep breaths, her colors shifted back.

  "At ease, students, you may sit." As Naberius' booming voice rang through the classroom, every student took their seat. " Today you take the performance test. Most of you will fail. It is rare that I have even three students a year pass. Last year, I had none. I shall pair you up by knowledge gained and strength of mind. And since there are 13 of you, one shall have to be paired up with me." The entire class moaned in unison at his words. "Now, let's begin. Vetis," Naberius pointed at the tall, muscular man, “Stand up.”

  "I shall, I shall, oh Great and Wise, what victim shall soon have glaze for eyes?" His oak-like body creaked and groaned as he moved.

  "Mammon,” In reply, a skinny, young man with slicked-back blonde hair and a large money pouch at his side stood up. The three left the room without another word. As soon as the door shut, the room filled with various conversations. Keshiema leaned over and whispered to Cresil. “Hey, sorry about that.”

  “No worries,” he yawned. “I should have been paying more attention.”

  After a few minutes, Naberius returned without the two students. "Vetis and Mammon have failed to show any evidence of the power of persuasion. They have failed this class." he announced loudly. "Now, Focalor, Charon. Come with me." A demon with gills and blue skin left the room, followed by a cadaverous figure. Naberius returned without them.

  "Azazel!" The Satyr-Daemon almost fell out of her seat and walked sluggishly to the professor's side. Dark circles gave her eyes a sunken appearance, and her usually flawless hair looked disheveled. "Geryon!" A bull-headed man stomped up to Professor Naberius and looked down at him.

  "Do you really want me to be tested against this goat?!" the centaur roared.

  "Yes." Naberius spoke softly.

  "I knew I'd fail this class." Geryon shrugged, and they left the room.

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  Naberius returned with Azazel, who trudged back to her seat, sneering at Keshiema when their eyes met. "Kobal. Ornias. And no funny business, either of you!" A viciously smiling clown with evil eyes and a tattooed tear shrugged at a djinn with horizontal horns. As they left, Ornias made obscene gestures towards the clown. Neither returned.

  "Shalbriri." A blind girl walked to the professor. "Sonneillon." He floated slowly to Naberius. Sonneillon returned, shivering with pride as he floated back to his desk.

  "Cresil, come with me. Ipos, you too." As Cresil stood slowly and sloth-like, he smoothed back his thick green hair away from his face.

  Keshiema had her eyes on Ipos as the dark angel stood. His wings were bound to his back, so as not to twitch during his classes and disturb the other students. His black horns reflected no light. He tapped the desk impatiently with his claw-like fingernails. Though hard to tell, she felt his gaze fall on her. "I've told you before, call me Damien." he replied to the teacher, though she swore he intended it for her.

  Keshiema’s breath caught in her chest. His all-black eyes stabbed into her, and she was sure the entire room could hear her pounding heart. She saw Ipos almost every day since the beginning of the year, yet only now did she actually see him.

  "You're all the same with your damn 'chosen name' bullshit," Naberius grumbled as the three left the room.

  Naberius returned with Ipos, who went to his desk with a smug smile on his face. Blushing, Keshiema tried not to stare at the handsome demon.

  'Guess that means it's my turn.' Swallowing back the bile fighting its way up her throat, she started to stand.

  The classroom door swung open violently. "Naberius! The Elders have summoned you!" A pale, dark-haired demon demanded as he stormed into the room.

  "Prince Stolas!" Naberius dropped down on one knee. Most of the students followed suit, but Ipos remained seated.

  The prince's power consumed the small room. His long black coat flowed smoothly as he walked in, and his heavy steel-toed boots made no sound. Bright sapphires on filigreed silver cuffs adorned his gray horns, representing his status as Crown Prince. His pointed ears twitched slightly, and his electric blue eyes browsed the room. When he spotted her, he paused and stared for a moment. 'The Crown Prince? What the Hell is he doing here?' Her heart raced, and her palms were clammy. 'And why the hell do people keep looking at me?' She thanked her stars her hair shrouded her beet-red face. She focused on staying grounded and keeping her colors from changing.

  Looking away from Keshiema, the Crown Prince glared at Ipos before returning his attention to Naberius. "Samael and Asmoday need to speak with you immediately."

  The giant Ogre-Daemon stood and saluted the prince. "Yes, my Prince!" He towered over Prince Stolas and still managed to look insignificant next to him.

  As Naberius started to leave the room, the prince snapped his fingers, and the professor looked behind him. "And its Alex, not Stolas."

  "Yes, your majesty."

  "Go!" Stolas snapped the order through clenched teeth. Naberius scurried away. "Alright, it's exam day. Who's left? Please stand." Keshiema stood to attention.

  "Alright then, follow me." Without saying anything, Keshiema followed the Crown Prince. When the door closed behind them, Stolas crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Damn I hated this test. It was so annoying when I had to face Naberius and persuade him."

  "You faced Naberius?" Keshiema gave Stolas a curious glance, wondering for the first time why the Psych classes always kept an uneven number of students. Everything the Elders did had a reason behind it.

  "Well, he was doing private lessons then. It was over a thousand years ago, after all, and the Academy didn't exist yet." Stolas's sharp fangs gave his smile a sinister undertone. "Either way, I knew you would be facing him for the final."

  "What? How did... Uvall?" She raised her eyebrows in concern. 'That prophet knows way too much,' she thought, balling her fists.

  "No, no. Uvall did not foresee this." The prince waved his hand in the air to shoo away the thought. "Well, he didn't tell me at least."

  "Then how did you know?" she asked pressingly.

  "Well, for one, your mother was an exquisitely powerful demon with many strong psychics in her family tree."

  "My mother?" his words captured her full attention.

  "She wasn't able to use telepathy herself, but a strong bloodline goes a long way." He smiled as he thought out loud.

  "You really knew her?" Keshiema pressed.

  "You being a Friskalia helps too, with the connection to Ethera. You're not quite at your potential yet, though."

  "My mother!" Keshiema raised her voice at the distracted prince.

  "Of course, you've never used persuasion, have you?"

  "Tell me about my mother!" she shouted as loudly as she could, her hair and eyes shifting to red.

  "You peasant!" the Crown Prince growled as he grabbed Keshiema by the collar of her uniform. Slamming her back against the wall, he shouted in her face. "You dare to demand something from your Crown Prince? You are nothing in this world! While I am the heir to the throne of this world and the next one!"

  Suspended two feet in the air, in the grasp of this powerful demon prince, possibly inches away from death, Keshiema felt no fear. Her heartbeat was steady and her thoughts were calm. She took a deep breath, pressing one bare foot against the stone wall. Her tones returned to blue. In that relaxed state of mind, she quickly connected to her magic.

  "Crown Prince Stolas?" Her silky, soft voice floated through the air like a siren's song. The prince's eyes glazed over. "Prince Stolas, would you kindly tell me how you know my mother?"

  "She is -" the Prince cried out. Dropping Keshiema, he fell to his knees, clutching his head.

  "Stolas! What's wrong? What hap-" Keshiema stopped mid-sentence, cut off by an unbearable pain. She screamed, covering her ears to try to block out the high-pitched shriek ringing through her head. Behind tears of agony, she saw Prince Stolas relaxing before kneeling over her. The shrieking felt like fire with a voice, burning her body and deafening her mind all at once.

  And then it stopped. Everything cooled down and quieted as fast as it started. Her awareness was slowly returning. Someone gently lifted her from the ground and carried her. Prince Stolas’s voice gradually came into focus as her hearing returned. His voice was shrill and quick, and she could not, for the life of her, understand his words. Something about blood and her eyes. Darkness still shrouded her vision, and she felt thick, sticky tears roll down her cheeks. When one fell to her lips, she tasted salt and iron.

  Blood filled her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. She coughed, trying to catch her breath. Gripping Stolas' coat, she cried more thick tears. She tried apologizing for coughing on his shirt, but in doing so, she only coughed more. Exhausted, she gave in to the darkness that already held tightly onto her vision, letting it engulf her.