The water felt less inviting after her short talk with Ipos, so Keshiema made her way to the library. She was curious about the elders but felt uncomfortable asking about them directly. The history books in class barely touched on the subject. "These are your superiors, obey them." She remembered her instructor telling her. Her training and classes focused on her ability to heal and her affinity for sword fighting. She was going to be an assassin. There was no need to give her lengthy history lessons.

  She had been able to choose an elective, and she had chosen language arts. She had access to the same books as every student, but no need for history books until now. 'Had I known my situation, would I have chosen another path?' Her uncanny ability to easily learn new tongues meant she had extensive knowledge of human languages from all around the world. She planned to, one day, speak all of them, living and dead. There would be no miscommunication between allies, and no enemies hiding behind a foreign tongue. 'Probably not.'

  Keshiema loved the Library of Denim. Not only did it contain vast amounts of knowledge from all of the realms, but the building itself was unimaginably grand. "If this place doesn't have any answers as to what these princes are, nothing will." As she approached the door, a honeyed laugh pierced the air.

  "Keshiema, is that you?" Azazel giggled. "I see you made a full recovery."

  "Azazel," She turned around to face the Satyress, trying to stay calm. "I see you brought some friends." Focalor, Mammon, and Charon stood behind her.

  "Boys," Azazel snapped her fingers, "whoever kills her gets some alone time with me tonight." She purred seductively.

  The men surrounded Keshiema as Azazel stepped back, preferring not to dirty her own hands. Mammon managed to take hold of Keshiema’s horns from behind. Focalor grabbed her left hand. Charon reached for her right but was too slow. Drawing one of her swords, she swiped at Focalor. Mammon pulled her head back, causing her to miss her swing. He took her free hand and pulled it behind her back. She struggled, but she lacked the strength to break his hold.

  "Let go of me!" she screamed. Silver striped her red hair and glittered in her crimson eyes. Charon reached for her second sword. She had just enough movement to bite his ear as he leaned in.

  "What the fuck!" The emaciated demon cried, clutching his bleeding ear.

  Distracted by his friend's injury, Focalor loosened his grip. Keshiema ripped her arm free, quickly taking her second kodachi. She slammed it back, burying the blade up to its hilt in Mammon's stomach. He slammed her head on the ground before pulling back. Blood trickled from her head wound as Keshiema quickly scrambled to her feet, ready to fight.

  "Fuck this, the goat ain't worth it." Charon helped Mammon, and the two shuffled towards the infirmary.

  Keshiema gripped her swords tightly, taking an offensive stance. Focalor smiled nervously. "Yeah, sorry, I'm gonna go too." He ran as fast as he could.

  Looking around, Keshiema found Azazel had vanished. She sat against the library wall and focused her aura. Her star faded away as she healed her sprained wrists and cracked skull. Her hair stood on end as the familiar chill ran through her so deep the summer heat could not reach it.

  Keshiema finally entered the library. The ancient Egyptian architecture of its predecessor was a heavy inspiration in the design. Not a square inch of space was wasted, with every corner dedicated to either holding knowledge or gaining it. Floor to ceiling, every nook and cranny contained books, scrolls, binders, collections. Documents from every language ever written filled the library. Desks and tables for personal and group use filled the floor space, just far enough apart to be orderly and ensure a moderate amount of privacy. She sighed, relieved to be in a space that brought her peace. Hearing her, the librarian greeted her with a half-hearted smile. "Can I help you find anything, Keshiema?"

  "Hey, Alexandria. I'm doing a report on the Human Golden Age, and the royal family's role in it."

  "That's quite a topic for you. I thought you hated History."

  "I do. Just trying brush up before the new semester."

  "Well, if anyone can pull it off, I'm sure it'd be you. Everything we have about them is in Angelic. The Daemon records of the Royal Families are kept within their respective households so we only have Angelic accounts here. As for the Apocalypse, our people were a bit busy wreaking havoc and whatnot so those are mostly in Angelic too. As for the ancient prophecies regarding the End Times, the translated ones were kept in my library in Egypt,” she paused before adding bitterly, “and we all know what the humans did to that."

  "But that was Three thousand years ago. No one retranslated them?"

  "We didn't exactly have access to the texts after the gateways closed. You're lucky I had the originals in Tavera with me at the time. You'll find the oldest texts in the far back, tucked in the corner. They aren't organized at all."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "Thanks, Alexandria." Keshiema waved as she walked away. 'Untranslated?' she thought, 'This is going to be rough.’

  The angelic language was vast, containing well over thirty million words. Worst of all, her power of translation had little effect on it. Even after a couple of hours, she was having a hard time deciphering the scripts. She scanned her notepaper, filled with short translations and side notes. "So Merihim is one of the four horsemen. He took to the skies to spread pestilence. His horse was white. Eurynome was the horseman named Death on a pale green horse. Beelzebub had a black horse and was called Famine. Asmoday was War and rode a red horse." She stared at her notes and back at the books and scrolls she had been reading. Although knowing the roles the Elders played in the Apocalypse was certainly useful information for insight into the scope of their powers, it did little to satisfy her curiosity. "I want to know who you really are..."

  Standing to stretch her legs, she accidentally knocked her chair into the cart behind her. Luckily, only one book fell from the precariously stacked manuscripts. "Hm? 'The Blue Dahlia: Resurrecting the Timeless Deities.' Wonder how it got here. Spell casting and potions belong on the other side of the library." She placed the book back and returned to her studies.

  Someone watched Keshiema from the rafters of the library. A small draft ruffled his bright auburn hair. His emerald green eyes pierced through the darkness, giving off a subtle glow. Faded scars riddled his hands, remnants of battles in an ancient past. He sat on one of the beams, one booted foot propped onto the joist across from him, the other dangling, slowly swinging back and forth. Scratching behind a pointed ear as he tilted his head, studying Keshiema from afar. "She just looks all sorts of confused, doesn't she?" He asked the spirit beside him. His sharp teeth glistened as he smiled.

  "What do you suppose she's searching for?" She had a soft, mesmerizing voice that seemed to echo.

  "Well, Wisp, there's only one way to find out." Before she could interject, the fiery young man dropped down from the rafters, landing silently in the corner behind Keshiema. He approached her cautiously, trying to peer over her shoulder.

  Feeling the air around her stir, she rose from her chair, drew her sword, and turned around in one swift motion. She held her blade at the stranger's throat. Her eyes burned into his with a ferocity he had not seen in eons. "Speak!" she growled through clenched teeth.

  "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Just saw you sitting over here seeming a bit overwhelmed and thought I might see if I could help."

  "You came from a rather odd place." She nodded towards the corner. "How'd you get behind me?"

  "Ah, I came from above. I like the rafters. They're daker, more peaceful. Reminds me of home." Although faded, his rare accent intrigued her. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he could help her decipher old runes from ériu. Without letting her guard down, she lowered her blade. "Oh, that's much better." He touched his throat as if to make sure it was still intact. "What might your name be, my lady?"

  "Keshiema." She did not know what it was, but she was beginning to feel at ease.

  "What a rare name. From your mother, no doubt. No human would've been able to come up with that one after all."

  Just like that, her sense of ease vanished. Keshiema tightened her grip on her sword, her knuckles turning white. "What was that?"

  "Oh, our hair matches now!" he chuckled. "Ah, you're not amused. What I mean, Little Sparrow, is that I can tell you're not a full-fledged demon. And by the looks of it, you are descended from the Ice-Daemons. The men of those tribes were wiped out long ago, so it’ve had to be your mom that was the demon."

  "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

  "I've been given many names, actually. Phoradendron is what most demons call me these days. Or Phorest if they don't absolutely hate me. With a P-H. No annoying cinematic references, alright? But I do suppose that's before your time." He trailed off.

  He gazed deeply into her eyes, as if looking into her soul. She opened her mouth to speak, but he started talking again. "Although, I think I'd prefer if you called me by my true name. It's been so long since I've allowed a demon to utter it. You can call me Dásos."

  'Seriously who is this guy?' she thought. 'He must be out of his mind.' Another wave of calm rushed through her. Refused to relax, she bit the inside of her lip, enough to draw blood. The pain helped her ignore the obvious manipulation. "That's you? Toying with my senses?"

  "Nah, not me. That’s the wisp." He shrugged. "She likes to keep things peaceful around here. Doesn't like too much ruckus too close to home."

  Keshiema tried to keep her thoughts clear, but the emotional manipulation was getting to her. "Our library is haunted?"

  "Something like that." Dásos smiled, displaying a full set of razor-sharp teeth.

  She backed up half a step. "Are you a Reaper?" It seemed wrong, though. Eurynome and Samael only had a few sets of fangs. This man had nothing but sharp teeth.

  "Me? A Reaper?" He chuckled at the thought. "Ah, that would be something, wouldn't it? Tell me, Little Sparrow. Is there something troubling you?"

  Despite his less-than-average height, the man had an intimidating presence, even with the Wisp working her senses. Still, she knew better than to trust a stranger. "I'm looking into the pre-apocalyptic era of demon history. I was hoping to learn about the royal families." She wondered if that sounded too strange.

  "Well, you're not going to find anything in those watered-down versions of events past." The clock tower chimed through the campus. "Three o'clock already? My, it's gotten late."

  “Wreck!” She cursed in Daemon. “I gotta go!” Keshiema started towards the door. She turned around after a few steps and returned to Dásos. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I have to go, it was um... nice meeting you." She lied. She held out her hand, and he took it, shaking it a couple of times before letting it go. She looked at her hand, slightly confused.

  "It's a handshake," Dásos smiled.

  "Yeah... I knew that." She was still staring at her hand. "I just didn't expect one from a demon."

  "Shouldn't you be going? Don't worry about the books, I'll put them up for you."

  "Are you sure?" She asked, feeling rude that she almost left them.

  "Definitely. Don't want you to be too late for... your thing?" Keshiema thanked him and ran.

  Wreck = fuck*