Year 1020 D.E. (Demon Era)

  A young demon woman sat next to a lovely, clear pond, braiding small sections of her long, electric blue hair so she could easily pin it away from her face. She only wove four braids, two from each temple, keeping them loose to avoid a headache from too much tension. Trying to tame the wild, wispy locks, she ran her fingers through, carefully avoiding the sharp points of her horns.

  “One year. Just one year left.” Keshiema told her reflection in the clear water. Almost everyone on campus would be returning home after finals, and she would not have to deal with them for a few months.

  ‘Home…’ her hair and eyes shifted to a dark obsidian black. She shook the thought from her head, trying to prevent a cascading spiral into the depths of depression. The water lapped the edges of the pond, the birds chirped merrily, bouquets of fennel, sage, and plum blossoms filled the light breeze. Taking in the sights, sounds, and scents of the present, she breathed easier, and her hair and eyes returned to vibrant blue.

  “Hey,” her best friend, Cresil, spoke from above her, his sunshine smile appearing in the ripples as he greeted her.

  She looked up and greeted his brightness with a grin of her own, sending a pang through him to see the smile not quite reach her eyes. Seeing his expression falter, she averted her gaze.

  Cresil leaped into the pond in front of her, splashing water everywhere. Grinning widely, he poked her forehead in the center of the electric blue wind rose that marked her as a Friskalia. “Tag, you’re it.”

  Growling, she leaped forward, tackling him into the water before he could move. Sopping wet, they cracked up laughing, scaring every bird and toad still left after the tidal wave they sent through. Cresil slicked his shaggy green hair out of his bright green eyes.

  Helping her to her feet, Cresil noticed the rope holding Keshiema’s crescent moonstone pendant was frayed and about to break. “Your necklace is gonna fall off.” He remarked.

  “Ah! Thanks!” she stuffed the charm and its breaking string into the self-sealing pocket of her uniform. “I’ll order a new one after finals, I guess.” She fiddled with her collarbone. She had had the pendant for longer than she could remember, and rarely took it off.

  He started to sink into soft mud, evening the stark difference in their heights. “Shit,” he scrambled out of the pond, his feet squelching as he pulled them from the thick mud. Light-footed as always, Keshiema followed with no struggle, save for holding back a chuckle. “Shut it, short stuff,” Cresil grumbled.

  They started back towards campus, Keshiema’s long, wet hair leaving breadcrumbs in the soft dirt as they walked. Their uniforms had already dried. She wondered if it was due to magic or an innate quality of the unearthly material. Kevara fabric was so versatile she had a hard time believing all of its features were naturally occurring. Most material from Tavera took enchantments fairly easily, so it would surprise her more if the armor’s features were not due to magic.

  Come to think of it, Keshiema was surprised to see Cresil even wearing his uniform. He only wore it when he had meetings with whoever his superior was, usually opting for more casual, comfortable clothing. “You got orders today?” she asked while trying to wring out her hair. Her heart thumped loudly, but she maintained her colors. She knew his retraining could be considered complete at any given moment. She dreaded the day he would eventually leave her, and prayed it would not be any time soon.

  “Not exactly. The boss just wanted a few updates on things.” His laugh was a bit heavier than usual. He was hiding something again. Averting his bright green eyes, he hastily changed the subject. “So, you’re birthday is tomorrow.”

  “And?” she stared at the ground as she walked.

  “I don’t know how many more I’m going to be around for,” he sighed, “I’d like to make this one special, you know?”

  Her heart dropped. ‘Cresil is going to leave soon.’ She tried to stay calm, but the shift to gray hair and eyes showed her fear.

  Cresil pulled her to a stop and patted her head. “Hey now, even when I do go back to regular duty, it’s not like you’ll never see me again. I wasn’t even a student when we met, remember?”

  He always helped to ground her, keeping her anxiety from raging out of control. ‘He doesn’t even have magic that would help with that.’ She thought, wondering how he always managed to make her feel better. “You know,” she said as colors returned to normal, “you still haven’t told me what got you sent back to retraining.”

  “I was just in the right place at the right time, I guess.” He brushed off her query for the umpteenth time. “So, for tomorrow, do you think Sonneillon and I can steal you for a few hours tomorrow evening? “

  “Sure, “ she huffed as they left the unpaved trail and entered the Academy’s main grounds. The afternoon sun hung high above the white adobe classrooms. During the week, students often clustered under the open-air hallways, but on a Saturday, the quad was as good as deserted. She sighed, relieved to find the campus mostly empty.

  Cresil smiled, happy to see her finally relax a little. “You want to hit the training grounds for a quick sparring match?” he asked, hoping to cheer her up a bit more.

  “Really?” Her excitement briefly turned her hair a gleaming gold, her eyes sparkling in a similar shade.

  He loved seeing that color on her and wished it were not such a rare occurrence. He nodded towards the Melee Training Grounds, and they headed that way. “Have you eaten today?” Cresil asked, knowing how often she forgot.

  Smiling at his thoughtfulness, she nodded. “I had a steak and egg burrito, with cheese, mushrooms, onions, sweet peppers,” she counted off the ingredients on her fingers as she listed them.

  “And let me guess…”

  “and a plethora of extra spicy hot sauce.”

  “There it is!” He rolled his eyes. “You know you’re not normal, right? Not even Fire-Daemons like spicy food as much as you.”

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  Shrugging, she offered a theory. “Maybe my demon parent was a Fire-Daemon.” Cresil stayed quiet. He rarely participated in discussing her possible parentage and absolutely never broached the topic himself.

  “So,” she tried to fill the awkward silence that had formed, “are you going to fight for real this time? Or are you still going to hold because I’m 'just a kid'?” she mocked him using a deep voice and air quotes.

  “Let's just see how you do today.”

  When they reached the Melee Training Grounds, they stopped by the department office to rent an arena and judge. As they warmed up, mages cast a protection seal over the arena and their weapons so they could fight as hard as they wished without worrying about injuring each other. ‘If only they offered the same courtesy for official exams,’ she thought, remembering too many unfortunate incidents to count. At least she could heal herself, and most of her peers were fine with letting her expend her magic to heal them, too. Most of them.

  When the referee gave them the signal, they faced off, weapons drawn. Keshiema tightly gripped her dual kodachi, waiting for Cresil to make the first move.

  Cresil knew better than to give her the opportunity to read his moves. Her reaction times were too quick. So he waited. She was far too impatient to stall for long. She chewed her lip, loosening and tightening her grip on her weapons. Her breathing became shallow, and her jaw tightened. Swirls of lavender aura formed around her legs. ‘Three…two…one!’ As if on cue, Keshiema launched forward with unprecedented speed, swords poised to strike.

  Expecting the attack, Cresil parried, throwing her blade to the side with one dagger and thrusting the other towards her stomach.

  Jumping back at the last moment, Keshiema narrowly avoided a fatal injury. A bright green streak formed on her side where his blade made contact, simulating injury, and the pain to go with it.

  As soon as she landed, she jumped high, attempting to cut him from above. Cresil dodged with a quick pivot, slicing at her back as she landed. Another glowing green streak appeared across her back.

  Panting, she called forth her aura to give her more speed. Her colors shifted to a vibrant red as she rushed him with a flurry of swings, each one easily dodged by the seasoned warrior.

  Cresil attempted to sweep her legs. She jumped, barely making it over his foot, exactly as he predicted. Cutting her across the chest, he won the fight only minutes after it started.

  “Damn it!” Keshiema slammed her fist on the ground as the protection seal dissipated and her “injuries” faded away.

  Cresil crouched next to her. “You know what you did wrong, yeah?”

  “I got angry?” she winced as he helped her to her feet.

  “No,” he shook his head. “You can get angry in a fight. The problem is, you let it show. And you let it take you over.”

  Huffing, Keshiema concentrated on her breathing. Oak trees rustled in the hot summer breeze, swords clanged in a nearby arena, and the warm aroma of blackberry cobbler filled the air. Her cerulean shades returned as she grounded herself.

  Her mouth watered as she thought of the delicious dessert the chefs were cooking up in the Great Temple at the center of the Academy. “I need something sweet.”

  “Come on, let’s see what we can wrangle up at the cafeteria.” A bat screeched under the eaves of a nearby row of classrooms. Cresil’s eyes narrowed at the creature, ever so slightly as they passed it by. A few seconds into their walk, Cresil made a noise of surprise and stuffed his hand in his coat pocket, pulling out an Officer’s Arena Pass. “I forgot my boss wanted me to return this.” He looked at the clock tower and winced. 2:58. “The office closes at three.”

  “I got you.” She snatched the pass from him and sprinted back to the Training Ground Office. If he pushed it, Cresil might have made it to the office in less than two minutes, but Keshiema arrived there in less than one, albeit a bit out of breath.

  She held up the pass to the clerk, who was just getting out of his seat to close up. Looking over the card, he grumbled, “Worthless, lazy Impure.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Keshiema tapped the counter with her claws, “What was that?”

  “Hah,” the clerk scoffed, “you heard me, mutt.” The deafening, grinding screech of her nails digging into the stone counter left his ears ringing. A touch of unhinged maniacism sparkled in her eyes. ‘Did her fangs just grow?’ his throat felt thick and dry. ‘No, no. It’s not like she’s a succubus.’ His gaze rested on her Friskalian Mark. ‘That’s impossible.’ Clearing his throat, he handed her a slip of paper. “Now get out of my office.” He doubled down on his attitude.

  “Gladly.” Keshiema yanked the slip from his hand. “Something in here stinks.” Stomping away, she slammed the door on her way out, rattling the glass.

  By the time she returned to Cresil, her temper had already cooled. She heard him before she saw him, however. He was whispering in the demon tongue. Rounding the last corner, she set eyes on him. He appeared to be talking to himself.

  With her acute hearing, Keshiema could have easily overheard him, but chose to concentrate on other sounds. Ravens croaked, calling each other to fun and delicious finds. A creak gurgled softly, winding its way through the campus. Children played in the nearby field, giggling and shouting to each other. A bat chirped and squeaked. ‘Probably one I saw earlier.’

  Straightening his blazer, Cresil turned around, greeting her with a brilliant smile that showed off his gleaming white fangs. “Sorry about that. Did Castor give you any trouble?”

  “Nah,” she lied, afraid Cresil might overreact. “Who were you talking to? I caught your voice on the wind.”

  “Just the little bat in the eaves.” He started walking. “Now, let's go get some of that cobbler. It smells divine.”

  ***

  With a full stomach and an inordinate amount of leftover blackberry desserts filling her mini fridge, Keshiema fell onto her small bed with a sigh. It was a good day, even if she had lost her sparring match.

  But tomorrow... She hated her birthday. It was nothing more than a reminder of her status as an orphan and the family she missed so dearly. Trying to keep her mind off the past, she decided to sharpen her weapons. Lying a clean blanket on the floor, she carefully set her swords and dagger on it. The sound of the whetstone sliding up the blade filled the silence, but no matter how slowly she worked, the process had to end eventually.

  A soft hum filled her ears every time she sat still for more than a moment. So she showered, letting the hot water run over her, loudly pattering against her head. But staying still too long wrecked her nerves. Growing fidgety and anxious, she hurried to her routine, meticulously combing through her conditioner-laden hair to remove every last tangle. With every last bit of product washed down the drain, Keshiema left the shower, her skin crawling as she tried to find something else to do.

  The silence consumed the small dorm, and walls closed in on her. Her body felt disproportioned; too large for the shrinking world around her. Clutching her temples, she tried to block out a sudden onslaught of haunting memories. A dark room with large mirrors. A black mist surrounding a blood-covered, shrieking beast. A dark figure, holding her close.

  A wave of nausea threatened to evacuate her stomach. Pulling her legs to her chest, she placed her head between her knees. Her breathing came in quick, shallow bursts. The high-pitched ring drowned out every other sound in her small dorm room. Her heart thrummed against her tightening chest.

  The few minutes the panic attack lasted felt like hours to Keshiema. She kept her head down and her eyes squeezed tightly shut, rocking back and forth to soothe her racing thoughts. But as the dark mist and shrieking monster faded, new horrors took their place.

  A robust man and woman loomed over her, laughing and slurring profanities, their voices warped and twisted by time and anxiety. A fierce ache in her arm followed a deafening crack. The sharp pain of having a thousand slivers of glass removed with tweezers by many hands, some expertly trained, others too young to have any experience. The distinct image of an aluminum bat coming down over someone’s head. Not once, but twice.

  “You escaped,” her lips trembled, “you escaped, and they’re gone.” Her lungs were on fire from her erratic breathing, and her muscles were tense and sore, but she slowly regained control of her body.

  Grabbing one of her extra pillows, Keshiema crawled under the thick comforter, purposefully leaving on every light. Clutching the pillow to her chest, she eventually fell asleep.