"Sixteen!" Cresil shouted. "Whoop whoop!" His hair was freshly cut and formal wear free of wrinkles, leaving her to wonder once again who his superior might be.

  The memory played out vividly within the dream realm, the colors bright and oversaturated, the voices vibrant and clear. "It's not that big a deal," Keshiema rolled her eyes as she adjusted her posture, lightly splashing the water below. Her feet ached, so she had them dangling over the rarely-used bridge, soaking in the icy creek.

  "I know it's a few weeks away still, so I hope this is ok," he handed her a to-go container and a gift wrapped in brightly colored paper. "You can open it now, or wait."

  Setting the food aside, she examined the gift. When she tugged at the paper, it dissolved instantly, revealing a velvet clamshell box. "Cress?" She stared at the unassuming container.

  "Hey, no givebacks. It's your birthday," he said, half sternly.

  Nervously, she lifted the lid with trembling hands. Within, sitting on a black silk pillow, were two ornately crafted Taveran Steel cuffs, each set with a crystal-clear gemstone.

  "They're enchanted," Cresil explained. "The gems will change to match the wearer's eyes. I don't know if they'll shift with your emotions or not, though." She traced the delicate leafy curves of the metal, awestruck by the beauty and craftsmanship. "I know we don't have a lot of occasions to dress up and they're against dress code, but-"

  "Thank you, Cress," she cut him off. "They're gorgeous. I'll make sure to wear them at my next formal event."

  "Do you want to try them on?" The gleam in his eyes was adorable, so she handed him the box. "You're sure?" While he had no horns, he understood most demons who did hated others touching them.

  "I don't have a mirror to make sure the gems are centered properly," she offered. There was also the matter of trust, and of course she trusted him implicitly.

  "Alright," he complied, gently slipping the metal rings over each horn. As soon as they were centered, the cuffs tightened themselves. "Let me know if they feel too tight. They should be snug but not uncomfortable."

  "I can hardly feel them," she confirmed. "How do they look?"

  "They suit you," Cresil smiled.

  The colors around her danced and mixed together until she found herself sitting in front of her vanity mirror, staring at her reflection. The bright blue gemstones shimmered, matching her eyes. Carefully, she slid the cuffs off her horns and gently placed them back in their case, closing the clamshell and tucking it away in her desk.

  Cresil served her a piece of blackberry cobbler, with a lit candle atop. "Make a wish."

  Closing her eyes, she imagined herself in an elegant ball gown with matching strappy heels, long silk gloves, standing beside a sharply dressed man. In a few weeks she would officially be sixteen, old enough to attend the balls and banquets of high society.

  But the image, as much as she desired it to come true, tied a sickening knot in the pit of her stomach. Ignoring the foreboding sense of dread, she blew out the candle.

  Plucking the colorful wax from the dessert, Cresil handed her a fork. "I'm sure you figured it out by now, but I won't be here for your birthday. I leave tonight, and I'll be back a day or two after."

  The world shifted again, and she stood in front of Naberius's classroom, clutching a file folder. Still in mild disbelief, she opened the file and stared at the freshly signed document with a large "APPLICATION APPROVED," stamped over it in bright red ink. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, aiming for the Administration building.

  "Hey!" a static-filled voice shouted at the same time a cold shiver chilled her to the bone. She turned to see a dark mist, his form still hazy from her walking through him. "Watch where you're going!"

  "Stars!" She covered her mouth with the file folder. "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking!" Her hair and eyes went coral, marking her embarrassment. "Um, are you ok? Is there anything I can do?"

  The mist's bright silver eyes narrowed as he stared at her, "Perhaps you can show me where the Administration building is."

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  "Of course! I'm headed there too!" She pushed down the building fear and resentment. "I'm sorry again, for walking through you."

  "It happens. I'm Sonneillon, by the way."

  "Keshiema," she smiled politely. "It's nice to meet you Sonneillon."

  "Hey, Mutt!" Tommy called from behind them. "Got a new boy toy already? The sloth's only been gone two days! Sure doesn't take you half-breeds very long, does it?"

  Closing her eyes, Keshiema whispered to herself to ignore Tommy, but even as the words left her lips, her colors turned a bloody red. The incredulous demon knew exactly how to get under her skin, and she hated herself for her inability to hide her emotions. She kept walking, feeling Tommy's gaze burning a hole in the back of her head. "I'm sorry, Sonneillon." She shook her head.

  "I take it that young man harasses you often," Sonneillon's silver eyes narrowed as he turned to take a glance at Tommy.

  "I didn't mean to involve you in anything," she apologized again, her head hung low in defeat.

  "Nonsense," he waved his hand to shoot the thought. "The only one who should apologize is that poor excuse for a demon." Sonneillon's body shivered with rage. 'He really should have killed you already if he hates you that much. You're just a filthy halfling, nothing a count's son should have trouble dealing with.'

  Everything froze in place and the colors dulled into sad muted tones as Sonneillon's thought echoed around her, introducing a fresh layer of pain atop a wound yet to close. The glimpse into his mind left no room for denial; he never held any respect for her, never thought of her as even worthy of his friendship.

  Each beat of her pounding heart joined the ringing in her ears. Keshiema stared at the Mist-Daemon, taking in every hazy detail that distinguished him; every small gray streak, the exact shade of his haunting silver eyes, his modest height, and almost opaque form.

  Looking through sonneillon, she spied Tommy, clenching his glass water bottle, poised to throw it at her for Sonneillon's remark. She rubbed the back of her head, remembering the sound of the bottle striking her skull, and the amount of blood that escaped the wound.

  The memory resumed, forcing her back into place with what felt like a heavy punch to the gut. The assault happened in double-time, as the realm fought to maintain equilibrium and regain the proper flow of time.

  Sonneillon reacted quickly, in what she now understood as feigned concern, taking his rarely-used corporeal form to tackle Tommy to the ground, ripping the bottle from his hand and returning the favor with a swift, powerful strike before dissolving back into a cloudy vapor.

  Keshiema tried to heal her wound, but the shock of anyone other than Cresil coming to her aid proved too much for her process, and her powers refused to obey, causing her to pass out from the pain and blood loss.

  ***

  In the void between waking and sleep, Keshiema reflected on the bittersweet memories. She wondered why he had not taken her to Nergal in the beginning.

  "Sonneillon was sent by Nergal to investigate you." She turned about, searching for the owner of the familiar voice. A hazy figure appeared within the void. "My child," the figure cooed softly, "you have been through so much."

  Looking directly at him hurt her eyes, and filled her foreboding sense of doom. "Who are you?" She asked, keeping her gaze averted. "you spoke to me in Ethera, and during my fight with Adramelech."

  "Oh? How odd for you to remember my voice," he mused. "Though I suppose the Primordials are more resilient. Right, you asked who I am," the figure laughed. "I am Fate."

  "Wait, Fate exists?!" She shrieked, tugging at her hair. "And you're a person? Not just some abstract idea?"

  "Well, someone needs to keep Chaos in check." Her head was spinning so fast, she could hardly process his answer. "That is to say, I usually only interfere when necessary." Seeing how overwhelmed she was, clutching her head and shaking it, he took it on himself to give her the answers he was sure she would ask. "Your family's death was not fated, but the result of Chaos whispering in Nergal's ear. Unfortunately I didn't notice until it was too late." Fate shook his head, disappointed in himself for the failure.

  In a moment of lucidity, Keshiema looked at the all-powerful creature directly in his glowing gold eyes, "What about the battle with Adramelech?"

  "The battle is fated, yes. And I do hope you win."

  "And if I do, I'm supposed to rule in his place?"

  "Hm?" Fate raised an eyebrow, unsure what she was talking about. "Who gave you that idea?"

  "Samael said Uvall foretold it," her heart raced faster now as she wondered which demon lied, and why. The betrayal hurt, but she knew neither of them all too well. Samael made a point to avoid her as much as possible, especially after the reveal of her lineage. And Uvall...Uvall was clouded in mystery, never appearing before her until the evacuation. She had still yet to speak to him directly.

  "I see," Fate offered nothing more on the matter. "My child, it seems you have been having trouble with your powers as of late. I advise you to handle that as swiftly as possible. Once a destiny has been set into motion, stalling it is difficult at best."

  "But how?" She asked, frantic, desperate for any sort of answer.

  "You are not a prophet, your body cannot handle information of prophetic nature directly from myself. You will need to figure it out on your own."

  "Couldn't you just tell Uvall then?" she begged as the world turned gray. "Please!"