《Songs of Anenas-Chrysalis-Part One》


 Prologue-A Knife in the Dark

    A full moon illuminated in the midnight hour. A cold breeze howled across the forest seas and mist shrouded the twisted trees. Outlined by a hazy fog, white brume buried the trails. Animosity flooded the murky vale with Death''s grip across the veil. Shadows twisted and danced as dense mist blanketed the ground, obscuring the trails beneath a shroud of white brume. Thick with tension, the air heralded death''s icy grip.


    Through the charcoal grove, silhouettes darted with swift movement. The faint chime of bells echoed across the ghastly forest, as heels stabbed the earth with precise movement.


    I can''t see a damn thing past these trees. And to make matters worse, the air''s closing in.


    Up from a bird''s eye view, the forest revealed a structure piercing through the canopy¡ªa colossal fortress flanked by twin towers. The hooded traveler approached the cliff''s edge. Her gaze fixed on the high silhouette. With a sharp breath, she stepped back and extended an arm of melanin, tracing cryptic symbols with her fingers. At her command, a faint sphere manifested.


    "Om¨ªchli V¨ªma (Mist Step)," she chanted.


    The orb dissolved into misty particles and spiraled around her. In one fluid motion, she leapt forward, and the enchantment carried her effortlessly. Twisting mid-flight, her black high boots¡ªadorned with black ruby anklets¡ªlanded amongst the haze. The sorceress stood momentarily as mist coiled her feet before dispersing. Adrenaline shot through her veins in defiance of gravity.


    Reaching the foot of the eastbound mountain, the arcane damsel jumped at great velocity.


    Enhancement of the rocky pillar bestowed a close-up, amplifying stone towers between corrosive ridges. One entrance, through bare windows, was guarded by brutes of shadow. They stood unmoving, cladded in metal that gleamed with a sinister crimson. Markings pulsed across their armor with horns silhouetted against faint moonlight. Oblivious to the intruder, she vaulted to the middle passage, where a sentinel positioned close to the entrance.


    The sorceress pivoted her leg forward.


    "Ps?chous! (Cold Snap!)"


    Sleet discharged, transfiguring into ice chains and petrified her opponents in frozen states. She grasped the stone beam and hurled over the gravel entry. Upon landing, the cloaked conjurer swept the liquid from her left leg and transmuted it into ice spikes between clenched fists.


    "Stil¨¦to(Dagger!)!"


    She tossed the conduits. Crystals scattered, multiplied by the dozen, and shards impaled three more guards within the area. The only adversary was left. A lone guard. It turned with its eyes glowed beneath its helm and unsheathed a flaming bronze sword.


    "You think that''ll work in your favor?" she taunted.


    The dark knight growled in retaliation.


    Underneath a whisper, she snapped her fingers.


    "K¨¢fsi (Combustion)."


    Flames erupted around and consumed the opponent in a fiery explosion. The trail made its way to frozen statues, creating meltdown and conflagration. The sorceress watched as the inferno consumed them expeditiously and fade into embers. Without hesitation, she peeped the grand entrance, if only for a moment. Heels clacked the stone floor, and she extended a hand once more.


    "Ski¨¢ V¨¦los(Shadow Arrow)."


    A linear beam pelleted from her palm, striking the sealed entrance. The impact ricocheted through the fortress but left the barrier unscathed. A faint shimmer revealed the aftereffects of a protective crescent enchantment.


    "Always a last resort." She said with a click of annoyance.


    Extending her hand again, an obsidian staff manifested before her. Drawing back, she placed her left arm above the garnet jewel, withdrawing a jade javelin. The sorceress launched the halcyon weapon, and the lance connected through barricades, tipping ripple effects of pierced glass. Striking true, it shattered the enchantment into glowing fragments. She approached the accessible gate and uttered another dusk ray. The gate crumbled as it collapsed, revealing a cavern illuminated by flickering lanterns.


    She stepped inside the hollow grotto and the air grew colder. Her eyes scanned the earthen walls with a sense of unease that pricked against her mental.


    Something''s not right about this tower.


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    Premonition was intercepted by heavy footsteps. A platoon of soldiers emerged onto the battlefield. Bloodlust in their eyes with vendetta in their hearts.


    Elevating her staff, the ornament of steel feathers unleashed cold drafts. Her mantle pushed back against the manifested wind, revealing golden trim that outlined black boots and a parallel loincloth complemented by the winged ruby jewels.


    "Vroch¨ª(Rain)," she intoned steadily.


    Dark stars cascaded from the cavern ceiling with a swift descent. The soldiers shattered beneath the barrage. Victory came, but the sorceress proceeded with caution. Moments later, she unveiled her vision. The sight revealed the workings of a bright image. Standing on solid glass, the area was enveloped by a clear interior.


    Another Dimension.


    The space transformed into a blanket of open air. Paying no mind, she continued her stride. Her path led to a spiraling staircase, ascending heights among the clouds. The climb was whirling. Diamonds glittered in the night sky, which calmed her mind in euphoria. Higher the ascent, the further the descent to no man''s land, if she suffered a misstep. Once she reached the top, she found herself face-to-face with a figure cloaked in white.


    She initiates the challenge. "My instincts were correct. My arrival was preemptive. So, you knowexactlywhy I''m here. Where ishe?"


    The veiled guardian chuckled in arrogance. "It is quite unfortunate. For you, that is. You won''t pass beyond this point. Your death is a necessity."


    She laughed at the confession, mocking its subtlety with sass. "Necessity? How flattering. Then, you should also know that I won''t die so easily. You''ve taken such a high road. Then, perhaps you can appeal to my generosity. If we''re going to be fast friends, that is. There''s got to be stakes to this endeavor. Now, how should we wager this gamble?"


    "Fool. Your insolence will cost you," the figure rebuttal.


    "And I''ll bet your arrogance will lead to your downfall."


    Her arms rose with palms aglow. "Mavro Ntous!(Black Shower)"


    Black pellets discharged in rapid succession, homing in on their prospective target. In response, the adversary dodged with effortless precision. Each miniscule bullet barely scraped the surface.


    "Pathetic," he sneered upon landing. "Are you done?"


    Undeterred, she chanted in harmony, "Di¨¢volos Pag¨ªda! (Devil''s Trap)"


    Empty shells drifted the floor in an expeditious manner, morphed into an immense claw, and bound its captive. The massive limb swept its prisoner into its clutches, discarding any form of circulation. The white mantle struggled against the binding, cursing the opponent under their breath.


    "Is that all?" The victor asked, unamused while advancing in measured steps. "I was expecting more of a real challenge." Encircling a sigil on the ground with a cool expression, she faced her captive and shook her head assuredly. "How disappointing. You should''ve never underestimated me.Mavro Vel¨®na! (Black Needle)"


    In an instant, the claw morphed into a tangle of thorns inflicting trauma and damage. From sharp impalement, blood flowed from the bounty. Drooped in defeat, it lay lifeless. The sorceress walked past her monument without a second glance.


    Another platform revealed itself leading skyward.


    Ascending the floating stairwell, she reached a sterling scaffold leading to a door. Pushing through, she entered a small stone chamber lit only by a trapezium window. Beyond it, she approached the frame and noticed a blue moon to her vantage point.


    "This isn''t right," she muttered. "What the hell happened to the tower?"


    She proceeded to exit but the timber gate vanished.


    The air grew heavy with a promise of destruction.


    Wheeling back to the miniature frame, she gasped from a scrape of heat.


    "I warned you before," came a voice laced with malice. "You wouldn''t pass beyond this border. Even if youtriedto kill me, you still failed, you insolent witch."


    Reacting to attack, the defendant jumped back and faced the initiator¡ªa man with pale skin, silver eyes, jet-black hair, and spectral presence exuding power.


    The sorceress smirked with undaunted confidence.


    "Well, well. You''re full of surprises. That skirmish was effortless."


    Malevolent laughter resonated. "Effortless? Ignorance will truly be your downfall. I allowed you to proceed forward, so that I may conclude our charade." The man stood before the sealed entrance. "A ruse trick to believe I''d die so easily."


    The ghastly warlock extended his arm forming sigils of cryptic nature. Several bomb-like creatures emerged, a few inches behind the sorceress. Caught by surprise, she had little time to react. Enchantments detonated explosions, destroying the wall frame in the process.


    A slight pause in the moment caused smog to travel. Once the smoke cleared, the answer was revealed. A captivating beauty attributed bundles of cascading indigo, alluring sapphire pupils, and flawless melanin complimenting the black and yellow trim top, matching her silver brooch.


    "Now, I see," he observed. "You survived by discarding the one thing that protected your identity. I''ve heard of your kind, but I was informed none of you survived. It''d be a shame to kill you and waste such effortless beauty." A crooked smile formed a distorted visage. "Serve me, and you might find it... rewarding. I promise the experience will be most¡ªexhilarating."


    "You sure are talkative," the indigo replied in disgust. If you were serious, we wouldn''t be having this frivolous discussion." She shrugged with cockiness. "I''m quite certain you don''t know a thing about a woman''s satisfaction."


    He snapped to the rejection. "Insolent witch! Burn in hellfire with the rest!"


    Reprising, the ghost conjured more shells and discharged them.


    Sorceress extended her staff and manifested a scarlet barrier.


    A sea of black flames erupted from the devil''s hand and morphed into an iron trident. Hurling the spear upon contact, the prongs detonated and dispelled the barrier. Explosive force thrusted the blue-eyed siren over the edge, drowning in a sea of mist.


    "Foolish woman," the guardian sneered. "The guilty cannot escape retribution."


    Regenerated, the enchanted bombs hovered over the creator as he faced his familiars.


    "Make sure she''s annihilated. There''s no room for setbacks."


    The white wizard vanished, and seven bombs descended by word of their master.


    All that remained in the grim was silence from the mist.

 Authors Notes

    So, the day has finally come.


    Warrior,


    Welcome to a brand-new adventure. My name is Brian, but you can call me Cion (like Scion, but without the S). I welcome you to Anenas (a''knee''nus)¡ªa realm once renowned, now forgotten, and split into land fragments called Dimensions.


    I want to express my gratitude to you for diving into this project. There are many other books that I''m sure have caught your eye and landed on your reading list, but you decided to give this a shot. And for that, I am grateful. ????


    After years of world-building, writing, and refining, I can finally share the initial installment of a saga experience with you.


    Magic and mystery collide as fate awakens¡ªbut, Warrior, are you ready to step into the unknown?


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Throughout this journey, you''ll encounter emboldened terms that hold weight in the progression of the story.


    For example, ?ethas (ate''thus) is a recurring term throughout the story. It is described as the inner pyre of a vessel, bestowing the gift of creation.


    There will be multiple character POVs¡ªmost written in first-person present tense, with some sections in third-person.


    To understand the visual and aesthetic, the setting takes place in the past¡ªthe 2000s with a 90s feel. You''ll find elements of both real-world and anime influences woven into the narrative.


    I welcome feedback, constructive criticism, and open discussion. However, I will not tolerate harassment, verbal/emotional/mental abuse of any kind, or misconduct. You will be blocked.


    Trigger warnings will be listed when deemed necessary. There will be some religious overtones in the story¡ªnot as a means of condemnation, but to set the foundation of the world.


    If anything changes or updates arise, I''ll be sure to let you know.


    New chapters/prompts will be released episodically every Sunday and Thursday at 7 PM CST / 5 PM PST, unless stated otherwise.


    Happy reading, and let''s dive into Anenas. ??

 Verse One/Clair-Episode 1

    Dawn bestowed her golden fragrance. Beyond the basked metropolis, whisking away the moon''s presence, the morning breeze veiled her night essence. Twenty-four hours painted a picture of spring portraying a summer debut. Always and forever, South Bay embraced her signature weather with ethereal nights established on desert foundation.


    My alarm blares at the count of six. A sound I silence with a groggy swipe, before diving back into my thoughts.


    There''s nothing special about working in the field.


    Dear Lord, who birthed this controversy? What stemmed from the appropriation of working five days a week? Mondays should be removed from the calendar. Decree that as child labor. Better yet, a thirteenth month should be manufactured. To dwell in power, I would regulate the notion. Abide by law, no school with extensive vacations.


    The thought fades as I continue to drag on.


    Freeways are terrible. Merging from the 405 to the 110 is nothing but the devil. Traveling north is hell on earth. It''s a mixture of purgatory and asphalt.


    "Waking at six depicts my excitement," no one ever says.


    Why won''t summer just last forever?


    I''m just ready to graduate.


    I glance at my open itinerary. Late nights and looming deadlines made mornings like this a struggle. Battling insomnia was a nightly occurrence, but my black moleskin journal offers solace¡ªa secret place for dreams and manifestations. Feels like I came across various topics, even those so far from this planet. For example, a deadly virus that could threaten civilization. Granted, those are reflective in apocalyptic settings.


    The irony of history repeating itself is slim in today''s setting. Medicine and technology continuously elevate and promote breakthroughs with each passing day. Humanity is so far ahead of its time in the direction we are headed.


    These are my thoughts taking hold. I really need to lay off on the doomsday scenarios.


    A quarter past signals the second alarm.


    I conclude the final sentence, "To be quick or chastised for tardiness."


    "Just a month left," I mutter, attempting to summon some excitement for the day ahead. I just had to think about how close I was to graduation. That thought alone helped me survive the demands of middle school. After initialing my signature, I bookmark the ivory pages and seal my ballpoint pen. Swiveling across my auburn floor, I move on to my dresser and pull out the school uniform¡ªa white polo and black denim bearing the academy''s insignia, placing them on the king-sized comforter. I analyze the mandatory dress code. One would think all the revenue the academy has accumulated¡ªthey''d at least invest in higher quality clothing or allow free dress code with a meaningful criterion, of course.


    But that''s nothing to riot and raise pitchforks over.


    It''s just a necessary evil.


    From there, a hot shower along with daily skin care revitalizes the soul. I donned the institute garments and caught my reflection. The uniform outlined a slim silhouette, ebony hair cascaded my back, and bangs framed across chestnut vision, I was ready to overcome my conquest.


    I grant myself the nod of approval.


    "Let''s go be great," I whisper and exhale a breath of determination.


    Opening the door, I step into the threshold from my bathroom. Before I knew it, suspicious movement caught my peripheral. With that effect, my heart sank. While I was away, someone was in my domain and stole my prized possession.


    "AUBRI!!!" I yell, storming out of my room toward the staircase.


    The spiral stairs gleamed under the chandelier''s light, centered above. Across, the other side leads to three doors. One of them had a design of floral and white petals. I barged into a room, examining the domain of plush animals and floral wallpaper.


    "Oh, sister," I coo, scanning the room. "Give me my journal. I promise not to hurt you."


    Silence. Her defiance was predictable.


    "Last chance," I warn, advancing another step forward.


    Proceeding with caution, shuffles from a toy pile captures my attention. I ease my way to the discovery, like a predator pursuing its prey. Another shuffle signals my heed to take action. Anticipation follows, plunging myself into a pillar of cotton. My efforts were in vain. Creating distance, steps fade as the culprit escapes.


    "Get back here, you little thief!"


    I bolt to the first meeting place. At the top of the staircase, I pause just in time to see her braided pigtails, adorned with white barrettes, bobbing down the steps. I pick up the pace on my pursuit. Following behind, the decline continues down three flights. Descending the encirclement connects a sounding crash. To address reckless behavior, I leapt over the handrail, negating the danger upon landing on the ground floor.


    How does someone trip over air and why do writers dramatize survivability in horror films? Matters that don''t matter because nothing can hinder wrath and infliction.


    With her face full frontal, I place my foot on her with a retrieval of bearings.


    "Girl, how many times do I have to tell you¡ªStay out of my room!"


    The rascal counters, "Clair, get your claws off of me!"


    "What did you say to me!?" I pull a tail as collateral. "You better say sorry."


    Satan''s spawn retaliates. "Never." Making eye contact, the brat showcases her crooked teeth. "I''ll never apologize. I''m telling Mama if you touch another hair on me."


    Aubri was clever to taunt my way. However, that would not change her fate.


    "You asked for it." Wrapping her frail neck, I dug my other fist into her braided scalp.


    Her screaming defeat cost her the game of wits.


    "Now, are you going to stay away?"


    Victory was short before answering to foul play of a sharp pain loosening my grip.


    Releasing my journal, I stumble forward, and my ears perceive the inflictor. "What the hell are you two doing!? Not in my house! It''s too early for this nonsense!"


    "Are you trying to kill me?!" I counter pettily.


    A woman stood before us with bronze complexion radiating authority. Wrapped in a bun, her curly bundles of brown highlights¡ªand full lavender lips contrasted with her gray joggers, accentuating her lean posture. She stood at five-nine¡ªtwo inches above my initial height. Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled beneath retro spectacles, framed by arched brows hinting at her annoyance.


    "Mommy!" Aubri cowers behind her. "Clair''s being a big meanie!"


    I flare my nostrils and point a finger. "Liar. You stole my journal!"


    Aubri blew raspberries, and my fists clench in fury. "Listen here, you conniving little¡ª"


    "Enough!" Mom snapped. "Both of you! Why are you always coming for each other?"


    "I didn''t send for her! She''s always invading my space!" I shot back.


    "Honestly," the lady of the manor exhales in frustration, pinching her nose bridge. "All the hard work I do to aid in the stability of this household, and I can''t even get an inch of subtlety without you two ready to kill each other at the start of the week." Her fury was directed toward the youngest. "Aubri, don''t go through your sister''s things¡ª," she scolds as I nod smugly. "¡ªEven if her ideas are executed beautifully."


    My smile falters. "I beg your pardon."


    I thought she was on my side until I heard confession.


    Did I hear correctly? Mother pleading guilty to the invasion of privacy?


    She gives me a knowing look. "To be blessed with vivid imagery, my daughter could be the next big thing. If only she''d redirect her energy more to her studies and not write things about her family."


    I fall over from the subliminal and Aubri rolls on the floor with uncontrollable laughter. My face flushes with anger and flexes an index to the accomplice. "You read my journal?!"


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


    "I might''ve skimmed a few pages," confesses the defendant, "But I didn''t read it."


    She just admitted a few seconds ago. "Unbelievable! Why would you do that?"


    Unyielding, Evelyn folds her arms. "Your father and I pay the bills. I do as I choose."


    I stare at her speechless, almost losing my balance again.


    "That''s just cruel. Yet, petty is a virtue, coming from you," I retaliate.


    "Watch yourself, little girl," she deflects. "You were rough with your sister, and I won''t tolerate misconduct."


    But¡ªI was hit with a broomstick. The thought wants to release but I pull back.


    "Secondly, I wasn''t aware of this diary. Why didn''t you tell me about it?"


    Because you''re so nosy.


    Releasing the thought would only add fuel to a pointless fire. Evelyn''s a sensitive woman. The type of mother who loves her children and will bestow the world with the following exception: Know everything, have the final say, and not be held accountable for any problems created by their doing. A classic case of narcissism. This notion causes me to retrieve my dream pad on the marble tile and elaborate further.


    "You guys talked about this already. Daddy gave me this on my thirteenth birthday."


    She sighs in an unimpressive manner. "Your father... Always doing something without consulting me." Sounds like a personal problem, but I fought the urge to roll my eyes as Evelyn continues her sob story. "I was against the notion, but your father convinced otherwise. He thought it was best to keep personal thoughts at your disposal."


    Last I checked, my thoughts were hidden before anyone could interpret a syllable. It''s almost seven-thirty and this bombardment of shenanigans is emotionally draining.


    "It was," I say firmly. "Until someone decided to invade it."


    "I''m your mother. I''m allowed to be concerned."


    "Uh huh," I reply sardonically. If there was a participation trophy for this, I''d give her the award for the Most Prying Mother on the Planet.


    "Clair, get your stuff," she orders, dismissing the argument. "Before we''re late."


    There she goes blaming me again.


    "Don''t you owe me an apology?" I push back, refusing to budge.


    "I''m taking you to school, aren''t I?" She turns her back and proceeds to the garage.


    I protest under my breath, "Do you even have an ounce of humility?"


    "I''m sorry¡ª," My mother faces me slowly after her attempt of walking away. "Did you say something?" she questions sharply.


    "N-nothing at all," I stutter, waving the white flag. "I''ll meet you in the car."


    ~ ~ ~


    Division by a metal fence separates the parking structure from the courtyard, where laughter echoes amongst the schoolyards. Compact cars and luxury vehicles rolled through the black entry gates. Students depart their compartments with farewells, scattering across the school grounds.


    The recollection of early childhood brought a bittersweet pang. Time had proven itself both a gift and thief. Back then, preschool was a blur of snacks and recess. Middle school, however, has been an entirely different experience. Endless assignments stretched across six or seven subjects. Five days condensed within forty hours and crammed in thirty-six weeks.


    My point is that it is ludicrous. And yet, here I am, enduring it. Calvera Academy¡ªa private institution known for its rigorous standards and lofty ideals¡ªis considered one of the top ten schools in the state. Boasting with its state-of-the-art technology, religious foundation, and passionate faculty, its creed rang loud and clear: Shaping Innovators into Tomorrow''s Leaders.


    #


    With tuition at a moderate bracket, funding such an establishment is not docile. Patrons and sponsors keep the vision alive¡ªmy father included. Allegedly, Daddy was one of Calvera''s top donors. Despite his construction business, his passion for education shines evident. Did that make his daughter Queen of the Scene?


    They call me Renegade, a rebellious queen.


    Safety''s a familiarity, but I yearn for a different sense of direction.


    "Have a great day at school, girls."


    Aubri leans forward, planting a quick kiss on the driver''s cheek.


    "You''re picking us up, right?" I inquire.


    Despite our earlier argument, I''m unable to mask lingering frustration.


    "I''ll let you know," Evelyn lowers her tone. "The crew discovered something at the lab last week. Might be an anomaly."


    Sighing from disappointment, I nod with acknowledgment. Evelyn Tisdale wasn''t an ordinary photographer. She''s a master of her craft, choosing science over glamor. Her fascination with galaxies shaped her career in ways I couldn''t fully comprehend.


    "Look after your sister," she instructs upon my exit.


    I nod and seal the shotgun.


    Evelyn and I don''t get along, but we can agree on family matters that involve the little one.


    The silver coupe drives off, merging onto the street after Aubri and I step onto the pavement. Looking ahead, the day was a mix of promise and uncertainty.


    Turning a corner, I exhale relief.


    "You have to babysit!" she pesters.


    "I''m not in the mood, Aubri."


    "I''m sorry." Her response shocks me. My little sister looks away, fixating on black concrete. "I wanted to hear some stories. I miss the days you used to read to me."


    Didn''t see that coming. Deep breaths steady me as I exhale and embrace her scalp.


    Perhaps, neglect isn''t what any of us needs.


    "How about this? Before I leave town, I''ll show you what I''ve been working on¡ªnot in my journal, though," I propose, releasing her from feedback. "Swear on the pinky?"


    Extending my finger, the preppy girl seals the deal.


    We, sisters, stroll the facility of embedded grass and concrete. Around the courtyard, an obstacle course was assembled on blue flooring. Rubber stretched across the wide court and intersected the playground. Ahead, the main building stood tall with an imposing four floors: its width rivaling that of a small office building. Marble, bricks, and plaster fabricated its walls, and the roof shielded occupants from weather conditions. Inside the vast building, Aubri and I descend the steps of blue concrete.


    By 8:30 AM, all students have a homeroom grace period. Fifteen minutes beyond that meant a trip to the main office. Distribution of green slips require signatures within twenty-four hours. Failure to do so results in consequences. Pink slips ruined weekends. And if you thought about forging your initials? Forget it. Faculty kept records from orientation. I''ve been late before, but I learned to avoid that scenario. Evelyn''s not keen to tardiness, even if the fault was her own. She knows the green slips I''ve gotten were from her procrastination. She simply refuses to admit it.


    "Good morning, girls!" greets the superintendent. "Lovely Monday, isn''t it?"


    Flipping the clipboard of names, I find a blank space. "Absolutely," I oblige.


    How does anyone respond to such a question? Adults have odd perceptions. Five days of work and minimal play. I pray my life won''t succumb to forty years behind a desk.


    "Is Taylor here?" Aubri inquiries about her best friend.


    "She''s in Study Hall," the administrator answers. "Also, there are plenty of snacks left from earlier. Help yourself, sugar plum."


    "Yay!" Aubri dashes out of sight.


    "Hey! Be careful¡ª," She was gone mid-sentence. "She''s so annoying."


    The admin giggles. "She''s adorable. I recall you were like her."


    "Hardly," I retort with pride. "I don''t remember acting so spoiled."


    "Of course, you don''t. Your sister will grow out of it though."


    I detect a hint of shade but shrug it off. Ms. Richardson is one of the few faculty members I care for. A beautiful woman with a positive soul. It''s unfortunate her marriage succumbed to a messy divorce by her ex-husband''s philandering. Of course, Taylor doesn''t know the real reasoning. I''d stumbled upon the information accidentally. (Just don''t tell Evelyn.)


    "What time is it?" I ask, while signing the family signature.


    Ms. Julie glanced her two-tone bezel. "8:05."


    I sign the time on both lines and return the clipboard. "How are you?"


    "Blessed. And yourself?"


    A nervous chuckle escapes my lips. "Just ready for school to end."


    Richardson places a hand below her chin, as her left arm presses against the green tunic.


    "Graduation''s right around the corner. You should be excited."


    I nod with anticipation.


    "What about high school? Have you decided on an institution?"


    I froze, hope crumbling in confession. "I haven''t made a decision."


    "Why the indecision?"


    I hesitate, calculating the chances. There''s a 99.9% chance Evelyn would hear about this conversation and have a fit worse than this morning. The remaining 0.1% is hinged on empathy.


    "Clair, are you alright?"


    My train of thought departs. "Yeah, sorry. It''s just that none of the schools I''ve researched pique my interest."


    Lord, forgive the lies I confess.


    "Sweetie, it''s okay," she reassures me. "High school is nerve-wracking in the beginning stages. You''ll know what''s best when the time approaches."


    I wish this beautiful woman could be my high school admin. "Thanks, Ms. Richardson."


    "Don''t give up," she encourages.


    "I better grab the child of gluttony before she consumes everything," I joke.


    She responds with a warm laugh. "Don''t be so hard on your sister. Have a blessed day."


    I chuck a peace sign.


    ~ ~ ~


    Of all things, Aubri devoured five donuts and four apple slices in a matter of three minutes. My insides cringe to the black hole in her stomach and the glaze caking her fingertips.


    I heed a warning. "You''ll get sick, and I''m not here for it."


    "I was hungry."


    "Why didn''t you eat breakfast then?"


    "Because you attacked me like some belligerent psychopath," she states nonchalantly.


    My hand automatically retaliates with a light smack to her scalp. "Next time, don''t go through my stuff and we won''t have this problem."


    The girl cringes, emitting a pang expression. "I said I was sorry!"


    I scoff. "Doesn''t excuse that smart-ass mouth."


    "You''re so mean! I''m telling Mama you cussed," she exclaims, facing my direction.


    "Shut up, Aubri."


    Being the middle child is exhausting. The black sheep always gets the short end of the stick. The oldest acquire all praise and the youngest indulges in spoils, despite destructive behavior. That pronounces an early gravestone on my end. Misunderstood because others view us as beneath them. It is wrong to underestimate the elder. We adapt faster than our counterparts.


    "I''m still telling," Aubri interjects. "And when do you ever listen to Mama?"


    My eyes squint to the petty notion. "I always take you where you need to go."


    "So, you need to escort me down the corner?"


    My vision narrows deeper. "You know the hall door is enroute to my locker."


    "Well, we''re here now. You can go," she dismisses with a bear hug. "Love you."


    "Yeah, yeah," I return the favor and release her. "Stay out of trouble."


    As she walks away to congregate with her peers, I notice the early arrival students watching a classic. One of my favorites: Aladdin and the King of Thieves. Although, I should reiterate. Aladdin is a classic; the sequels merely complement the grand storyline. Inspired by Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, I always wonder about Aladdin''s father. (Spoiler Alert!) Later revealed as the King of Thieves, his path to redemption forms a fascinating arc. It''s crazy how cartoons mirror reality. Jasmine was born into wealth, Aladdin was raised in the streets, and his father fought for a better future before he abandoned his family.


    I wish we had stronger bonds. Not that my father neglects us. He treats his wife and daughters like royalty. Still, I''d rather have his company. Materialism means nothing. My father is an excellent provider. But would it kill a man for time and devotion? Is money that important? Maybe I''m too na?ve to understand the concept.


    I''ll admit it myself. I am spoiled, but I still feel like a prisoner.


    The sensation feels familiar, walking through the hallway, leading to the upper floor.


    Upon my exit, the wind sweeps over me.


    Freedom bypasses the woods, blocked by brick walls and suburban views. Two paths present before me: West¡ªThe Parking Lot. East¡ªMy appointed destination. Gripping my bag of dazzling keychains, my heavy mane whiplashes against the breeze. Blocking views of the latter, a blue side door comes into peripheral, and an obstacle course lies dormant. The only accessible piece available to middle schoolers was monkey bars in the shape of skyscrapers. No one gathers in this part of campus minus the distant echoes and voices. Outside the middle corridor, a perfect opportunity presents itself. My eyes settle on a bench embroidered with Calvera''s insignia.


    Since the red dawn, the image shrouding confession bestows a semblance of release.


    ~~~

 Episode 1-The Message-Prelude

    When lashes meet pupils, the eyes experience darkness. The heart beats in repetition. Blood pumps inner veins. Deep breaths fuel the brain, and the body shifts to another state. Eight hours condensed within minutes and the mental conjures visions.


    What a twisted game of spiritual warfare.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Darkness surrounds me. Once life takes over, that''s how one differentiates a dream. But this recurrence felt more real than any previous fantasies. A premonition grasping for my attention. I wished to be woken from the sight of a man with no reflection. The epitome of an illusion cringing from an unseen infliction.


    I slowly approached the man cradled in the fetal position...


    * * *

 Episode 1-Clair-II-Queen, Court, & Jester

    "And what do we have here?" Condescension interrupts my thought process. "I bet the princess is writing a letter to her prince charming."


    My hand ceases motion. "And if I was, would you be so kind as my handmaiden to deliver?"


    Two girls stand before me, each dressed in a standard uniform. The first girl¡ªA stunning dark beauty wore black polo, tan khakis, and red high tops. Adorning golden pieces, her micro twist crochet braids rested perfectly shoulder length.


    I proceed with sass. "Your locs need a retouch. Practically begging for help."


    "It''s called a retwist," she snaps back. "But you wouldn''t know that with all that horsehair splitting off your back¡ªClaiming all natural when it''s fake news."


    I chuckle, despite the pun, and animate my tone. "Why you mad? Is it because my hair pops voluminously and yours don''t?" I toss the mane for dramatic effect. "Darling, the gag is to embrace what you''ve been blessed with."


    My assailant seethes, rolling almond pupils before folding her arms. "Heavenly Father, please save her from the delusions of grandeur."


    "Careful now. I can buy your whole life."


    She chuckles with pettiness. "With what? Daddy''s money? Please. You''ve never worked a day in your life. That''s your only hand-out."


    I rise to the occasion. "I''ll show you a hand-out."


    "Oooh, I''m shaking in my chucks," she mocks with sarcasm.


    Intervention cuts through tension.


    "You''re both immature. Save the drama after chapel."


    Left of Azrael, wavy hair cascaded in soft waves, held back by a turquoise scrunchie. Aligned with the girl''s caramel visage, she wore a similar uniform of a blue polo, tan pants, and brown low tops.


    "She started it," mutters my opponent.


    "It''s too early for all this bickering," Melody chides with her light tone.


    "Don''t be so sensitive, Azrael."


    "Far from it," she rebuttals. "I prefer the term passionate."


    Jokes aside, these girls are a blessing. Azrael excels in varsity ball while Melody stars as volleyball captain. Despite petty shenanigans, these two keep me grounded.


    "Plus, I''m curious about Clair''s writing." Melody sits beside me, dismantles her jean back pack, and extends her hand at my expense. "Proceed."


    "Nothing out of the ordinary," I admit, folding the diary.


    She switches her antics and pesters, poking my shoulder.


    "Oh? What''s stopping you from sharing with your best girls?"


    A vein slowly throbs my temple, and I utter. "Torturing me won''t make me talk, either."


    "Get on with it, Clair," Azrael urges. "We really need to go over this?"


    She has a point. Melody has ways of getting what she wants. This being one of them. And right now, I''m the main objective.


    "You''re worse than Aubri," I surrender, before reaching my breaking point.


    Melody smiles brightly. "How''s the baby Tisdale?"


    "Annoying," I answer blankly.


    The conversation shifts. I reflect on the lies, confessions, and a need for redemption.


    "Next time I see your sister, I''m giving her flowers," Azrael says with a smirk.


    See what I mean? Trifling.


    "Whose side are you even on?" I shot back incredulously.


    "Not the oppressor clearly," Azrael throws her hands dramatically. "Let''s just risk someone stealing your secrets for blackmail."


    The audacity.


    I peeve. "Obviously, you tuned out to the most important part where Evelyn was going through my stuff!"


    Azrael scoffs. "I''m not crying over spilled milk. Don''t come to me when it''s stolen."


    We exchange glares strong enough to initiate a brawl.


    I headbutt her with a light tap. "Wanna bet on it?"


    She returns my advances with a threat. "I''ll drag you by your edges."


    The peacemaker sighs. "Will you two make up already?" Melody intercepts calmly.


    I stick my tongue out and fold my arms, as a final taunt. In a moment''s respite, I take a breath to shift energy and dynamics. "Anyway, I had a crazy dream."


    Melody eagerly perks her voice. "How crazy are we talkin''?"


    Her excitement horrifies me.


    "Can''t wait to hear where your imagination took you this time," Azrael sneers.


    Ignoring both antics, I recount the dream state. Every word. Every sensation. Except one key detail I haven''t fully grasped.


    "You''re watching too many horror films," Melody says with a chuckle. "Demons have crept into your cerebral."


    Bless her spiritual heart.


    Azrael bursts into horrendous laughter. "That ain''t it. All those midnight snacks are coming to collect."


    "Two years, too late," I mutter, knowing she''d dish on stupidity.


    The idiocrasy. The lunacy. It''s always something ludicrous.


    The insomnia diagnosis went down like that in sixth grade.


    "Maybe it''s a deep-rooted issue you''re afraid to face," a new prospect proclaims.


    Azrael squawks out of her chair. Melody and I whiplash the corner and witness a new girl sitting beside us. Paired with a golden pencil skirt, a white top blended with her cream-toned pigment, and a long braid rests elegantly over her shoulder. She takes a dramatic slurp from the mocha frappe, declaring her presence to the group.


    "Don''t just pop out like that!" Azrael proclaims sharply.


    "Don''t be so sensitive," the girl tuts, flicking her right index casually.


    "Hailey, when did you get here?" Melody asks, arching an eyebrow.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Before the princess went into her lifetime adventure," replies the newcomer.


    I smirk, fighting the urge to respond spitefully. "Another case of finding the good in the negative, Hailey?"


    She scoffs, discarding the root of bother. "Hardly. Haven''t even finished my spill yet."


    Hailey adjusts her black socks, then plunges out of her seat with a dramatic flourish.


    Melody''s tranquil expression widens. "Here we go..."


    "Someone, please stop her," Azrael cries with a face of amusement and exasperation.


    Hailey''s eyes narrow to the spark of inspiration. She twirls right before facing us.


    "A breaking point has been breached. You can no longer abide by the dogma of society. The pressures of high class have become detrimental to your mental. You seek to destroy the ''isms of the world..." She trails off, dropping into a melodramatic pause. "...Or it''s just too much anime," she concludes, casually shrugging her shoulders.


    We stare in silence. Shooketh to the core. Then, fall over, bursting with laughter.


    "What are you talking about?! Are you done with the theatrics?" Azrael recuperates.


    "The nerve of it all," Melody composes.


    I regain myself and address the issue at hand. "That''s a projection coming from someone who watches more cartoons than any of us."


    "Hmph. I''m not the one having premonitions," scoffs the sassy chick. "Go find a therapist before your condition worsens."


    My jaw drops. Azrael releases more laughter, hollering in Melody''s shoulder. Her accomplice attempts to suppress a cackle, but I see right through her¡ªglaring at them both with death stares.


    Hailey winks, straightens her skirt, and returns to her seat. "Where''s Mason?"


    I shrug unknowingly. "Haven''t seen him yet."


    She grunts in dissatisfaction. "I hope he did his part of the project."


    "What are you guys working on?" I ask, twirling a lock of hair.


    Hailey unzips her wool pack and pulls out a black folder, revealing a large canvas. "Our assignment was to create collages that symbolize the four seasons. I worked on summer and winter." She flips the canvas forward, showcasing a beautiful oak tree split in the middle. On one side, the tree''s surrounded by orange, vibrant leaves. On the other, snow blankets the bare branches against a pale background.


    "Hailey, this is amazing!" Melody exclaims with admiration.


    "Alluring," Azrael compliments neutrally. "You can really feel the details."


    "Jester," I banter. "Using big words to express yourself? I''m so proud of you."


    "Do you really want to fight me?"


    I ignore Azrael''s attempt in coercion. "Hailey, you''ve really outdone yourself."


    "Meh, could be better," mutters the artist.


    Who isn''t sensitive about their craft? She has a young prodigy''s skillset. However, perfectionism is her constant companion that won''t let her feel good enough.


    She runs her fingers across the edges. "The lines are a bit crooked. The backgrounds could be a shade darker, and I knew I should''ve added more detail to the leaves."


    "You''re overreacting," Melody assures. "This is a certified A."


    "I don''t want certification¡ªI want perfection!" Hailey shouts, hurling an empty frappe container in frustration.


    The peacemaker attempts to intercept but the brawler stops her.


    "Let it go," Azrael attests. "You know where this road goes."


    Perfection is overrated. Hailey downplays her talent, convincing herself she''s below average. We listen to her vent. Occasionally, we fiddle with our mobiles while she works through her meltdown. We''ve been down this road plenty before. Also, the frappuccino wasn''t cold enough, but it''s best not to meddle. Perfectionists feel the world is conspiring against them.


    We''re also human¡ªOur worst critics.


    The sound of metal creaking pulls us forward, as the dramatics continue to prosper. A scholar strides over the threshold. His emerald eyes catch the light. His strong cheekbones and ginger hair grant him a princely air. As a final touch, his navy slacks and trimmed blazer completed the look, accompanied with a brown pack across his chest.


    "Mornin'' Tisdale," the redhead acknowledges.


    "Caesar," I call his nickname with relief. "Right on schedule."


    He cocks an eyebrow. "In need of my services?"


    A blood-curdling scream rings in our ears.


    I wince at the sound. "That answer your question?"


    Julius expresses confusion. "What happened?"


    "A case of early life crisis," I say flatly.


    "Per usual," he smirks. "She needs her daily dose of attention."


    I nod without saying another word.


    In a classy demeanor, the smooth operator advances the trio. Though Melody and Azrael try to offer comfort, it''s no use. Their efforts can''t compete with the scholar''s way of handling a chaotic storm.


    "Hailey, what''s the matter?" he asks, squatting beside her. "Why are you crying?"


    "I suck," Hailey bawls, clutching the canvas. "How am I supposed to pass with this piece of trash?"


    Please make it stop, plead my thoughts.


    Julius retrieves the content and studies the painting in silence before providing a verdict. "I beg to differ, guys. This actually sucks¡ª"


    "You''re an asshole," Azrael objects, her face a mix of shock and annoyance.


    "¡ªIn the eyes of someone who doesn''t appreciate art," he finishes with a shrug.


    The tension lifts and Hailey wipes her tears. "Do you really mean that?"


    "Do I look like a liar?"


    "Does that require an answer?" Azrael instigates.


    He ignores her, standing tall as he returns Hailey''s painting.


    "Arigatou," she whispers, ceasing the waterworks.


    Melody and I gawk in unison, showcasing our disbelief to the attention seeker.


    "We just told you that minutes ago!"


    She blatantly shares, "Julius''s word provides more assurance."


    Why are you being so extra? The thought wants to strangle her.


    Azrael chuckles, Melody shakes her head, and I give Hailey a death stare.


    "Moving on," Julius digresses, clearing his throat. "Has anyone started their project?"


    "For Ms. Jackson?" Azrael asks in skepticism. "Isn''t that due next week?"


    "Obviously," Julius replies, too reproachful for my liking. "We''re in the same period."


    "Unfortunately," she reacts sharply. "It''s nice when I don''t see you."


    "That makes two of us¡ª"


    "And we''re going back to peace," Melody cuts the argument before it starts. "Hailey and I finished ours over the weekend. Those data structures are no joke."


    "That class is hell," Hailey mutters, grasping her head. "My brain was ready to explode."


    Julius grins. "Now, was that so difficult?"


    "I haven''t started yet," Azrael admits meekly.


    "Don''t do it at last minute," the scholar mocks. "You''ll regret it."


    "I never asked for your opinion!"


    "Whoa. Don''t shoot the messenger," he replies, raising his hands in mock surrender. "What about you, Tisdale?"


    I scoff. "I haven''t started either."


    "Good grief," Julius pinches his nose bridge.


    "Even the princess has her off days."


    That random voice causes a chain reaction of twists and swivels to see the newcomer: a slick-haired kid wearing an all-black uniform, emulating a sense of fashion, donning frames that outline his square jawline. He removes the protection upon destination. Rebellious charm and features made up for the crude demeanor with beautiful hazels that could pierce someone''s spirit.


    "Good morning, peasants."


    "The devil himself," Azrael taunts. "Out of dress code like a damn heathen."


    "Your regard for my life is irrelevant. Charming, but not needed," he retorts coldly while adjusting his red tie. "Rules don''t apply when you own the school."


    Breaking the fourth wall, I won''t concur. The Everetts may hold faculty positions, but August has the swagger of someone who thinks he runs the place.


    "How long are you going to keep using that tall tale?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.


    "It''s not fake news," he replies confidently, walking to invade personal space. "You''re not the type to sulk. What''s wrong, Princess? Unhappy with your position?"


    "She''s dreaming of demons," Azrael announces.


    I''m ready to throw hands at this point. "Girl, for once, out of good faith, shut up."


    "Is that so?" August amuses, raising an eyebrow and stops me from striking. He grabs his duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder. "See you losers in the chapel. I''m reading the affirmations for service."


    "Wonderful," Azrael scoffs in disgust, once social distancing took effect. "Lucifer''s gonna put a curse us. Why are you two still friends?"


    "He''s not a bad person," I defend, though I can''t hide the blush on my face.


    "And I''m the Queen of England," Azrael retorts with thick sarcasm. "I can''t believe you still like him and harbor feelings."


    My face burns. "I don''t know what you mean."


    "Please tell me you didn''t do it," Melody asks suddenly.


    "Do what?" I ask, confusion in my tone.


    "That," Hailey adds with emphasis.


    I gasp. "Oh my God. No! Why would you even think that?!"


    "We just want to make sure you didn''t sell your soul to the devil," Azrael answers for all three, disguising bewilderment as tea. "Well, actually, we know you''re attracted to toxicity."


    "Julius, please tell me you don''t share these same sentiments," I plead.


    He answers, flipping through research papers. "I''m not involved in this conversation."


    I attempt to defend myself, but campus bells ring on my behalf, signaling the start of class. I grab my bag and add a dramatic hair flip.


    Thank goodness it''s a half-day. Lord, I pray for understanding.


    #


    Asher Hall: House of Communication and Science.


    Dividing the ruling class by two sectors, the tower hall is home to forty-six students. 8A is the haven of harbingers, profound in experimentation and dictation. 8B are scholars of lore and critical analysis. Fortunately, the academian isn''t here. Every year, she performs a grand gesture honoring us: A weekly, all-expense paid trip to Phoenix. I''ve been waiting for this moment since fifth grade. A project expedition, visiting the Grand Canyon, horseback riding, and some side shopping.


    Our classes often combine for morning events. Today was no exception. 8A has six rows: the same arrangement in a lecture hall. The students of 8B encircle walls, sitting beside occupant tables.


    Before the podium, an older man carries a small binder.


    "Good morning students," the doctor belts deeply, matching his salt and pepper demeanor. We respond quickly. Strong and rugged, he''s a man of science with a strong awareness of chaos. "We have extensive grounds to cover. The sooner I call you, the faster we get to chapel." He sounds off reading the role.


    Scanning the homeroom, I rest my head on a palm. Front and center by the left corner, Melody and Rae''s camaraderie with Hailey commences. I sense unease from the artist continuously looking behind for any signs of partnership. Julius stands in a back corner minding his own, and I dart the empty desk in the second row, wondering the whereabouts of its owner.


    * * *

 Episode 1-Orion

    My forehead burns, and I want to punch a wall because it reeks of gray water. When the dust settles, I struggle to breathe¡ªthe grogginess pulling at my mental. Of all things, I wake up to allergies. The worst thing about late spring is weather adaption. Pollen gathers from its foundation, coating everything in its path, and leaving me feeling neglect. I''m stuck in this mess because of Granny. All I wanted was to sleep the ailments away.


    But no. Things had to go her way.


    "Back in my day, I walked five miles to and fro''. I won''t tolerate this lax in my house!"


    The memory of her voice rings in my ears as I scramble to figure out how to get to class.


    The bus broke down¡ªfive minutes past eight.


    Right in the middle of traffic... By a cross-section.


    I''m so screwed, repeats the thought.


    I sneeze, peering through the glass tint. All around, the other passengers suffer in silence, trapped in their own irritations. I stand up and swim through the crowd, pushing past people who seem just as annoyed. Reaching the front of the bus, I spot the custodian.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Can you fix it?" I ask the old man with a hint of desperation.


    He shakes his head. "Have to wait for the next one."


    "How long will that take?" I press, checking my watch.


    "Twenty minutes," he replies, maintaining his focus on the road ahead.


    I glance at my gold analog, striking at 8:07. "I''m already late. Open the door."


    He finally looks at me. A long beat of silence stretches between us.


    "No can do. Don''t need additional problems."


    "I can take care of myself," I insist, standing my ground. "Please. Let me through."


    Our eyes lock¡ª his gray orbs connecting with my green pupils.


    "Then, you better hurry," he says, pulling the lever after consideration. "Good luck, kid."


    I nod in gratitude, pressing forward and exiting the compartment.


    "Thanks, Ronnie." I give him a quick wave before stepping onto the curb.


    Finding an escape route feels like a small victory, but I know the real challenge is ahead. It''s a straight shot to campus, and the problem lies within the next three-mile radius.


    "O, you got this," I mutter to myself and take a deep breath.


    I stretch my legs, adjust the black tie beneath my windbreaker, and fasten my pack straps. With a few deep inhales to steady myself, I take off, pushing myself to the thirty-minute mark.


    - - -

 Episode 1-Orion-II-The Gift

    Daybreak comes at six-thirty. Sunbeams slice through my window, dragging me from sleep. I''d stretch with my usual calisthenics'' routine, working my body to get the blood flowing. Despite being only in eighth grade, I''m already more physically advanced than most¡ªthanks to a strength that feels like it comes from another world. My biceps are noticeably defined for my age, and I can see the beginnings of a power that feels almost supernatural. I''ve trained for this moment since the start of middle school. I know I''ll be even stronger with high school on the horizon.


    After an evaluation of my outfit, I''d plan a light breakfast before catching my bus.


    Today, that''s not happening.


    Allergies¡ªthe worst epidemic and my archnemesis. The season''s pollen is a plague to my senses. My nose feels stuffy, and each sniff brings a mix of discomfort. These damn sinuses remind me of asthma. Between the ages of eight and ten, I was grasping for inhalers in the early mornings.


    Those small traces serve as remnants for proof of condition.


    I roll in bed, pulling the covers over my head. This is the worst.


    It''s a good day for hooky. I''m not missing out on a half day.


    I''ll just pray the allergens away.


    The Lord knows my heart...He knows sleep is the best medicine.


    "Wake up, Orion."


    Obviously, divine intervention had other plans for me.


    Authority knocks on my bedroom door. "Get up or you''ll miss the bus."


    Rolling between the sheets, I flinch at the hard knocks and pull the pillow over my head. "Five more minutes," I groan, muttering a quick prayer for the noise to end.


    And then¡ªsilence.


    But only a split second.


    My door flies open with a preemptive force. Sunlight floods the room with blinding hindsight and my blanket is yanked off, exposing my birthday suit.


    Panic uprising, I grasp on whatever to conceal myself.


    "What are you doing?!" I shout, full of distraught.


    "Fix your face," she commands, standing over me as I scramble to pull myself together. "I told you to get ready for school. What''s the matter with you?"


    Still in a daze, I whimper, "My head hurts and I can''t breathe."


    "Oh, you poor thing," Granny''s tone softens, and her palm touches my forehead. I know she''s feeling for symptoms, and I can''t hide my irritable sniffling. Plus, I know she sees this red nose as a source of ailment. "No fever. Get dressed."


    I protest weakly. "But my allergies are killing me."


    She leers with disapproval. "For someone so brawn, you still act childish. Get your butt up and go to school!" She pauses before dropping into a lecture. "Back in my day, I walked five miles to and fro''. I won''t tolerate lax in this house! Now get up!"


    ~ ~ ~


    I manage to shower and dress in under fifteen minutes. The hot towel drapes over my curly fade. Vapor cream soothes my diagnosis. But my mind? That''s a different story. It''s buzzing with irritation. Lemon with tea sits on the kitchen ceramic. I grab the slice and squeeze the content, retrieve the porcelain cup and stir the mini spoon, sipping the smooth liquid. The dash of honey also helps, but I still grimace. I hate traditional tea. Can''t fathom how Granny drinks this stuff, despite her insistence that it''s good for the heart.


    She stands across from me looking well-kept. Beneath the violet bonnet, rollers blended with her sleepwear, protecting her natural curls. Square glasses framed her almond-shaped vision, matching her youthful melanin. "What''d I tell you about sleeping naked?"


    "I sweat in my sleep, Granny," I stick to my usual fact. "It helps with blood circulation."


    "You read that from the internet?" She scoffs, narrowing her foresight. "Right in front of you is an archive of knowledge, but you''d rather go on the computer for answers. You let those steroids cloud your perception."


    I suppress my tea. "Granny, I''ve never taken steroids. I only drink protein shakes."


    Her response comes without hesitation. "No wonder your bowls reek of corpses."


    How cringe. The aftertaste that is.


    "Why are you so provocative this morning?"


    I rub my throat. What am I saying? Granny has no filter.


    "I still think I should stay home."


    "And you should stay in a child''s place," she expresses.


    "How original," I reply with a sarcastic eye roll.


    "You thought I was going to let you skip school and miss out on Chapel?"


    When does she not check my schedule?


    She revels in her power play. "Especially since you''re leaving town tomorrow."


    "Don''t remind me." She''ll be calling me every five minutes. "Are you going to be okay while I''m gone for a week?"


    Granny''s eyes soften for a moment, but the firmness returns quickly. "Oh sure. Besides, you call on the Lord, no matter the time or place."


    I''m not big on religion, but Grandma Maggie, is rooted in her foundation. From a Southern Baptist background, she always tells me that faith the size of a mustard seed is what keeps everything grounded and move mountains. If your spiritual foundation is strong, everything else will fall in the correct order.


    "Have you talked to your cousins?" she inquires, changing the subject.


    I stop mid-sip. The question always gets brought up every blue moon.


    "I''m irrelevant to them," I mutter. "We don''t harbor existence in our futures."


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


    "That''s not true," Granny counters, her voice more tender. "You just need to make time for each other."


    I hate breaking down this scenario because this question irritates my soul. "We haven''t talked since the funeral." That was three years ago. Probably don''t like the fact that I''m entitled the favorite grandchild."


    "I love all my children equally."


    Not when you favor the oddball over the other three. "Regardless, they see me as an outcast. I wouldn''t be surprised if they still view me as Mom''s love child¡ª."


    Granny snaps. "Enough, Orion," Her face hardens. "Don''t talk like that."


    Her tone stings, and I immediately feel guilty. I never meant to hurt her, but the pain still lingers. Losing both parents when I was eleven is traumatic. Dad passed in a fire, saving a toddler. His partner didn''t survive the foundation collapse. Mom succumbed to a virus so rare that even the doctors couldn''t stop it. I watched my mother wither away her final days. For six months, all I could relate was numbness.


    "You look just like your father," Granny says, softening her tone again.


    Let me be frank. We don''t look alike. Our features are nothing similar¡ªdifferent skin tones¡ªblack and bronze, brown versus green vision, and different hair texture of curls. The only thing we shared is resilience. She states her claim because of today''s uniform¡ªwhite-collar shirt, black tie, khaki pants, and navy high-tops complimenting the look; a token to the man who loved suits.


    "They''d be so proud of you on your big day."


    Consent is enough. "I better go catch my bus."


    I slip my gray bomber jacket over my shoulders. Calvera''s insignia remained visible on lateral proportions¡ªa silhouette wielding a broadsword and buckler.


    After fastening the gold link, I check my watch one last time. Right on schedule.


    "Are you coming home after class?" Granny asks.


    I finish the last sip of bittersweet tea and grab my black pack.


    "If something comes up, I''ll call you."


    Granny nods. "Be safe, dear."


    I kiss her cheek before slinging my pack over my shoulder and head out the door.


    ~ ~ ~


    Turning the corner, I hop over the fence and land on school property. Hustling through the back entrance, I head toward the gymnasium and climb the stairs toward Asher. The announcements ring out, discussing club functions, after-school programs, and morning chapel details. My legs feel like jelly after the three-mile run, and sweat''s pouring off me. I know I probably smell of sewage, but I don''t have a choice in the matter. I push through the classroom door, hoping no one notices me. That doesn''t work in my favor.


    All eyes on me.


    I drop my head low, attempting to catch my breath. I didn''t even notice the substitute standing up front.


    "Mr. Hunter, report to the main office," the old geezer states.


    I grit my teeth. "It''s 8:44! I ran here because the bus broke down!"


    He doesn''t budge. "I''ve already taken attendance, and you''re marked absent. You know the rules. If your regular means of transportation can''t get you here on time, then I suggest you find another way or catch an earlier bus, Mr. Hunter."


    I clench both fists, ready to say something that will bite my ass in the end. He thinks he can patronize me because of his fancy doctrine.


    "Dr. Von," a familiar intervenes. "In Orion''s defense, he shouldn''t be sent to the office. We leave tomorrow morning. Why not overlook this? Just this once? Make him write a report on his experience if need be."


    "Oui¡ª!" I object, ready to protest.


    "Very well," Dr. Von says, stroking his silver beard. "I understand your logic, Ms. Tisdale." He shoots a glare in my direction. "Take your seat, Mr. Hunter."


    My stomach drops with relief flooding in instantly.


    "The princess has granted you favor."


    I turn from the statement and find Julius, flipping through a research document.


    "Why are you sitting in a corner?" I inquire.


    "Minding my business," he continues to flip pages. "Self-preservation is fundamental. Make sure your debt is paid in full."


    My eyes narrow to the sketchy comment. "I''m going to pretend I didn''t hear that."


    "Now, Mr. Hunter, before I change my mind."


    "Better do as Master says," The scholar contradicts, his eyes flicking back to his work.


    Master?


    I dismiss the controversial title, as I walk to my seat in the second row. A few snickers float in the air, but I flip the instigators internally, letting their whispers fade as I plop down in my seat. I exhale, grateful for the sigh of relief.


    Suddenly, the intercom rings, following up with the detonation of a shrilling woman.


    "GOOD MORNING CALVERA!! ALL PRIMARY STUDENTS, REPORT TO THE SANCTUARY!"


    A ping of annoyance flows through me. The witch is excited for her speech, I see.


    "Started to think you wouldn''t make it," cuts the familiar voice.


    I straighten up, glancing her way. "Didn''t plan on it, but you know how Granny is."


    My ally senses my annoyance. "What was the reason?"


    "Allergies," I confess, hoping she buys it.


    "You sound fine to me," she replies with suspicion.


    I wave it off. The remedy did its job. Translucent dialect overcame the flow of mucus.


    The girl''s eyes lit up. "Sounds like she had some home remedies."


    "Traditional lemon tea," I say, giving her a half-smile. "And I ran from Hawthorne and Manhattan Boulevard."


    "No way."


    "Promise on my mother''s grave."


    "SECONDARY STUDENTS, REPORT TO THE CHAPEL."


    "At least you made it in time," Clair says, her gaze softens.


    I spin around, meeting her eyes with a grin. Her palm relaxes the oval visage that broadens the hue of beauty. "Nah. That was you, sis."


    Embracing the compliment, she smiles back. "What are best friends for?"


    I swivel back and interlock my skull between both hands. "Did I miss anything?"


    "Nothing extreme," Clair brushes a stray lock aside. "August is reading the affirmations though."


    "Great. We''re all going to be spawns of Satan," I mumble with dry humor.


    She giggles. "Azrael said the same thing earlier."


    "Where is that firecracker?" Glancing to the left corner, my tension eases a little. Something''s off though, and I feel a chill crinkle my spine. I can''t believe my eyes. Why is Azrael consulting the weather before the storm?


    "SIXTH GRADERS, REPORT TO THE CHAPEL."


    "Melody and Azrael have kept her calm. Hailey''s been moping all morning."


    I showcase concern. "What''s her problem?"


    "Our favorite artist had an early-life crisis."


    "Should I ask what it''s pertaining to this time?"


    Clair shrugs, detecting my sense of boredom. "I''ll skip the details. Long story short, Mason hasn''t shown up. Apparently, they both have a project due today."


    "Damn," I slouch in my chair. "And I thought my morning was rough."


    Her tone sharpens. "Do you want sympathy?"


    "Uh, no. Just playing the role of empathy," I want to play devil''s advocate in actuality. "We both know Mason isn''t the type to ditch without good reason. He''ll probably show up after chapel. For his sake, he better have a valid story."


    I glance again at Hailey. Her aura resonates with the intensity of righteous fury.


    "SEVENTH GRADERS, REPORT TO THE CHAPEL."


    "Class, gather in a single file!" Dr. Von declares.


    The classroom shifts as students rearrange to designated cliques.


    "That''s some stunt you pulled, Stick." Hailey comments, embellishing the code name granted a few years back, when I was frail with a lack of persistence.


    "Worry about your art class," I retaliate.


    Her head droops in defeat. "How dare you use my pride against me!"


    "You smell like a gym rat," Azrael blatantly states, holding a fragrance bottle and sprays.


    "Stop! You''re making it worse!"


    "All this ruckus in the morning," Julius sighs, leaving his corner to socialize.


    "How can you read at a time like this?" I question.


    The newcomer seals the document. "It''s called multitasking and tuning out the unnecessary," he says facing Azrael.


    "Try ignoring this incoming fade." Her veins throb within her temple.


    "Now, now everyone," Melody says, attempting to restore balance.


    "Shut up!" Clair shouts, whipping the group in shape. "Dealing with y''all gives me a headache."


    "Yes, Your Majesty," we say in unison.


    "Majesty? Do I look like an old lady?"


    "ATTENTION! ATTENTION!" The random proclamation gathers her wish to the intercom. "OH HO! CLASS OF 2007, PLEASE REPORT TO THE CHAPEL! I WILL BE FACILITATING TODAY''S SERVICE! WE ARE IN FOR A LOVELY TIME!"


    Clair sighs once the speakers shut off. "Here comes another migraine."


    "Want some aspirin?" I tease.


    Her back turns to me. "I want this day to end."


    "Oh?" My head tilts to the side. "Someone''s pessimistic."


    Sis folds her arms. When her demeanor shifts, I know she''s keeping something from me.


    "If that''s how it comes off, I''m sorry I can''t empathize."


    It''s not that deep.


    "Also, you have plans today," Clair adds, raising antics.


    My palms sweat. "Pertaining to?"


    "You thought I forgot, didn''t you?"


    Lingering fear passes through me, enveloping the worries. "You didn''t¡ª"


    "Oh, but I did," Clair interjects, cutting me off mid-sentence. "And I''m not taking no for an answer." Signing her effortless plan, her lip displays a confident grin.


    Sighing in defeat, the door opens, bestowing a flow of abundance. The students descend the steps. Each being spreads out in the process of reaching the cathedral.


    Happy Birthday, Orion.


    ?