Consciousness returned to me not as a gentle awakening, but as a throbbing, rhythmic hammer to the skull.

  My eyes snapped open, immediately assaulted by blinding whiteness.

  White ceiling. White walls. White sheets.

  I blinked, trying to clear the grit from my eyes. My right arm felt heavy. I looked down to see a magical infusion tube—a mana-drip glowing with pale blue liquid—inserted into my vein.

  Mana depletion, I diagnosed instantly. Severe.

  I tried to sit up, but the room spun. I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead.

  "Damn," I rasped. My throat felt like I had swallowed broken glass.

  Memory rushed back like a tidal wave.

  The dungeon. The Minotaur. The girl. The Gate.

  I froze.

  I slowly turned my head to the left.

  There was another bed.

  Lying in it, looking as peaceful as a child napping on a Sunday afternoon, was Valerie.

  I stared at her.

  I had hit her with a Class-4 Hellfire projectile. I had aimed for the spine. I had put enough mana into that strike to incinerate a Lesser Demon.

  She should be ash. Or at the very least, she should be a broken, charred mess wrapped in bandages.

  But she wasn't.

  She was sleeping on her side, breathing softly. Her skin was pale and completely unblemished. There were no burns. No scars. Even the freckles on her nose looked undisturbed.

  "What are you?" I whispered into the sterile silence.

  I gripped the bedsheets, my mind racing through every magical textbook I had ever memorized.

  Arch-Demons. Seventh Circle entities. To summon one requires a Coven of thirty Archmages. The ritual takes days. The blood sacrifice is immense.

  She did it in ten seconds. Alone. With no mana pool.

  "It’s impossible," I muttered. "The math doesn't work."

  Across the room, Valerie shifted in her sleep. She mumbled something that sounded like "chicken," then settled back into the pillow.

  Just then, the heavy white door opened. A guard poked his head in.

  "Sir," the guard called out to someone in the hallway. "The Prince is awake. And the girl is stirring."

  Headmaster Solon swept into the room a moment later.

  He didn't look like a worried school administrator. He looked like a general surveying a battlefield. His robes were pristine, and his eyes were sharp, calculating flints.

  He stopped at the foot of my bed. He looked at me, then at the sleeping girl, then back to me.

  A slow, practiced smile spread across his face.

  "So," Solon said, his voice smooth. "How does it feel to be a hero, Mr. Nox?"

  I stared at him blankly.

  "A hero?" I repeated, the word tasting like bile.

  I looked down at my hands. They were trembling slightly.

  "I tried to kill a student, Headmaster. I put everything I had into a lethal spell. She should be dead."

  "And yet," Solon replied, stepping closer, "she is not."

  "Is this a joke?" I snapped, my patience fraying. "We got lucky. That Gate... if it had stayed open for three more seconds, the Academy would be gone. The Province would be gone."

  "I am aware," Solon said coldly.

  "Then what is she?" I demanded, pointing a shaking finger at Valerie. "Because that is not a human. Humans don't speak the High Tongue. Humans don't regenerate from Hellfire in minutes."

  Solon’s expression didn't change. He clasped his hands behind his back.

  "We have taken samples," he said quietly. "While she slept. Her blood is currently being analyzed by the Alchemy Department."

  "And?"

  "And the initial results are... inconclusive. It registers as human, but there are anomalies. Spikes in the chart that shouldn't exist."

  I narrowed my eyes. "You can't let her go. You have to lock her up. Bind her. If she does that again..."

  "No," Solon interrupted.

  "No?" I sat up straighter, ignoring the dizziness. "You are going to keep a ticking bomb in the dorms?"

  Solon laughed softly. It was a dry, humorless sound.

  "You possess a binary mind, Demian. Lock up or destroy. But think."

  He walked over to Valerie’s bed, looking down at her.

  "We send her back to Squad 13. Tomorrow, she attends classes. We proceed as if there was a gas leak in the basement. A hallucination caused by fumes."

  "WHAT?!" I nearly shouted. "WHY?"

  "Because," Solon turned to me, his face hard as stone, "her power is raw. It is untrained. If we cage her, she breaks the cage. If we expel her, she becomes a weapon for someone else."

  He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  "The best way to control a storm is to let it blow itself out in a controlled environment. We will train her. We will teach her control. And we will watch her."

  Solon’s eyes bored into mine.

  "And you, Demian, will help."

  "I will do no such thing."

  "You will," Solon countered. "Because if the Church finds out... if the Inquisition hears that an unregistered entity opened an Arch Gate here... they will burn this school to the ground. And they will execute her without a trial."

  I fell silent. The Church. The only thing Demons feared more than each other.

  "Silence is our shield," Solon commanded. "Nobody knows but us and Grogar. Keep it that way."

  Suddenly, the rhythm of Valerie’s breathing changed.

  ?The slow, deep breaths of deep sleep hitched. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, like a camera shutter trying to focus.

  ?Solon stopped talking instantly. He straightened up, smoothing his robes, but he didn't step back. He leaned over the bed, his face hovering directly above hers, eager to catch the very first spark of consciousness.

  ?I watched from my bed, tense.

  ?Valerie’s eyes snapped open.

  ?Green. Bright, vivid green. But the neon glow was gone. They were just... eyes.

  ?She blinked once. Twice.

  ?The first thing she saw was not the ceiling. It wasn't the sky.

  ?It was the nostrils of Headmaster Solon.

  ?He was bent at the waist, his face inches from hers, staring at her with the terrifying intensity of a scientist examining a new species of bacteria under a microscope.

  ?"Good morning, Miss de Valois," Solon whispered, his voice silky and far too loud in the quiet room.

  ?"GAH!"

  ?Valerie didn't just scream; she scrambled.

  ?She moved with the panic of a startled cat. She kicked her legs, scuttling backward on the mattress until her back hit the headboard with a loud thump. She pulled the white sheet up to her nose, peering over the fabric with wide, terrified eyes.

  ?"Headmaster?!" she squeaked. Her voice was an octave higher than normal. "Why are you... why are you in my personal bubble?"

  ?Solon straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. He didn't look offended. He looked fascinated.

  ?"I was merely checking your pupillary response," Solon said calmly. "How do you feel, child?"

  ?Valerie lowered the sheet slowly. She looked around the white room. She looked at the mana-drip in my arm. Then she looked down at herself.

  ?She patted her arms. Pat-pat.

  She patted her legs. Pat-pat.

  She touched her face.

  ?"I feel..." She paused, frowning. "Squishy? No, wait. I feel fine."

  ?She wiggled her fingers.

  ?"Actually, I feel great. Like I just slept for a week."

  ?She looked at Solon suspiciously.

  ?"Am I dead?" she asked seriously. "Is this the afterlife? Because if it is, I have a complaint. It looks exactly like a hospital, and I hate hospitals."

  ?"You are not dead," I spoke up from my bed, unable to help myself.

  ?Valerie’s head snapped toward me.

  ?"Demian!" She gasped. She pointed a finger at me. "You look terrible! Like a wet napkin."

  ?"Thank you," I replied dryly. "I am suffering from mana exhaustion. Because I had to clean up your mess."

  ?"My mess?"

  ?Valerie blinked. She rubbed her temples.

  ?"I remember... the classroom," she muttered. "I remember the book. It had teeth. Rude book."

  ?She looked up at Solon, sudden panic flooding her face.

  ?"Oh my god," she whispered. "The floor!"

  ?Solon raised an eyebrow. "The floor?"

  ?"I cracked the floor!" Valerie threw her hands over her face. "I remember cracking the stone! Oh no, that looked like expensive granite. I can't pay for that! I'm on a scholarship! Please don't put it on my tab, I only have twelve silver pieces and a coupon for chicken!"

  ?I stared at her. Solon stared at her.

  ?The room was silent for a solid five seconds.

  ?She had almost summoned an Arch-Demon. She had opened a tear in reality that nearly consumed the province. She had survived a lethal Hellfire strike.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  ?And she was worried about the bill for the floor.

  ?Solon let out a short, incredulous chuckle.

  ?"The floor," Solon said, a twinkle of amusement entering his cold eyes, "is the least of your concerns, Miss de Valois. The Academy has... insurance for structural damage."

  ?Valerie exhaled, her shoulders slumping in relief. "Oh, thank the gods. I thought I was going to have to wash dishes for the next forty years."

  ?She looked at me again. She narrowed her eyes, scanning my bandages.

  ?"Wait," she said slowly. "Why are you here? Did the floor hurt you too?"

  ?I looked at Solon. Solon looked at me. The silent command was clear: Do not tell her she is a monster. Yet.

  ?"Gas leak," I lied, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

  ?"Gas leak?" Valerie repeated.

  ?"Marsh gas," Solon interjected smoothly. "From the dungeon drains. Highly hallucinogenic. You and Mr. Nox were closest to the vent. You both passed out and hit your heads."

  ?Valerie touched the back of her head. She looked confused.

  ?"But... I remember a claw. A big, black claw."

  ?"Hallucination," Solon said firmly.

  ?"And I remember flying."

  ?"Fumes," I added.

  ?"And I remember feeling like I could punch a mountain."

  ?"Adrenaline," Solon concluded.

  ?Valerie sat there, processing this. She looked at the two of us the Prince of Darkness and the Headmaster of the Academy nodding in perfect unison.

  ?She squinted.

  ?"Okay," she said slowly. "Gas leak. Sure."

  ?She lifted the sheet and peeked underneath.

  ?"Well," she muttered to herself, "at least the gas leak fixed my back pain. I feel fantastic."

  ?She looked up at Solon with a bright, innocent smile.

  ?"So, can I go? I'm starving. And if I miss lunch, Roc-ta eats my portion. She has no boundaries."

  ?Solon stared at her. This girl, who held the power of a god in her blood, was currently thinking about lunch.

  ?"Yes," Solon said, stepping back. "You are discharged. But Valerie?"

  ?"Yes, Headmaster?"

  ?Solon’s face grew serious. The amusement vanished.

  ?"Stay away from the basement. And... avoid reading strange books. For your own health."

  ?"Deal," Valerie said, hopping out of bed. She wobbled slightly, then steadied herself. "I'm sticking to picture books from now on."

  ?She grabbed her shoes.

  ?"Bye Demian! Hope you feel better! Try eating some iron, you look anemic!"

  ?She waved and skipped out of the room. The heavy door clicked shut behind her.

  ?Solon and I remained in the silence of the white room.

  ?"She has no idea," I whispered. "She genuinely doesn't remember."

  ?"No," Solon murmured, staring at the closed door. "She thinks she is normal."

  ?He turned to me.

  ?"That makes her more dangerous than any demon in this school."

  Three days have past and Life at the Academy had returned to a semblance of normality. The structural damage in the basement was covered by "Renovation Tarps," and Professor Grogar was on "medical leave" (rumor had it he was at a spa for stressed Minotaurs).

  For the student body, the gossip had moved on.

  But for me, Demian of House Nox, life had become a living hell.

  I was no longer just a student. I was a babysitter. A warden. A shadow.

  My mission, self-imposed but heavily encourage my mission was simple: Watch Her.

  And by the Gods, it was the most exhausting task of my life.

  Day 3. 08:00 AM. The Corridor.

  I stood leaning against a marble pillar, arms crossed, trying to look casual. I failed. I looked like a looming gargoyle with a sleep deficit.

  Five meters away, the door to the Girls' Restroom opened.

  Valerie walked out, drying her hands on her tunic. She looked painfully normal. She was humming a tune, completely oblivious to the fact that she was a walking magical nuclear bomb.

  I exhaled. Safe.

  The bathroom was the one line I wouldn't cross. Even for national security, I had standards. But I had spent the last five minutes staring at the wooden door, terrified that I would hear the sound of plumbing exploding or an Arch-Demon emerging from a stall.

  Every time a student walked past me, they gave me a weird look.

  "Morning, Prince Demian," a Goblin muttered, eyeing me suspiciously. "Waiting for... someone?"

  "I am inspecting the architecture," I lied smoothly. "The lintel on this doorframe is... exquisite."

  Valerie turned left.

  I peeled myself off the pillar and merged into the shadows of the hallway, following five paces behind.

  12:30 PM. The Cafeteria.

  Stalking a human was surprisingly difficult. They were erratic. They had no pattern.

  Valerie was currently sitting at a table with the Wolf-Girl (Roc-ta) and the Gnome (Pip).

  I was sitting three tables away, hidden behind a large potted fern. I had a book open in front of me (Advanced Theory of Silence), but I wasn't reading. I was watching her eat soup.

  She lifted a spoon. She blew on it. She took a sip.

  My muscles tensed. Is she angry? Is the soup too hot? Will a heat spike trigger a transformation?

  "This is good soup!" Valerie announced loudly.

  I slumped back in my chair. Just soup.

  "You're twitchy," a voice said next to me.

  I jumped. It was Elara, the High Elf from our dorm. She was floating her tea tray onto my table.

  "I am not twitchy," I snapped, adjusting the fern to better hide my face. "I am vigilant."

  "You are staring at Valerie," Elara observed, her silvery eyes showing a hint of amusement. "Again. People are starting to talk, Demian. They think you are love-struck."

  "Love-struck?!" I choked on my own spit. "I am monitoring a threat! I am ensuring the stability of the realm!"

  "Mmhmm," Elara took a sip of tea. "Is that what we call it now? 'Stability of the realm'? You followed her to the library for three hours yesterday. You watched her sleep on a pile of books."

  "She drools," I defended weakly. "It was disgusting."

  "You stayed for three hours."

  "I... I was studying the same books!"

  Elara just smiled that annoying, knowing Elf smile and went back to her salad.

  04:00 PM. The Courtyard.

  The incident happened on the way back to the dorms.

  Valerie was walking ahead of me, carrying a stack of scrolls that was far too heavy for her. She was chatting with Bram, the Dwarf, who was complaining about the quality of iron in the cafeteria cutlery.

  She turned to look at him, laughing.

  She didn't see the loose cobblestone.

  Her toe caught the edge.

  "Whoa!"

  Valerie pitched forward. The scrolls flew into the air. She was falling straight toward the hard stone path, face-first.

  My heart stopped.

  I didn't think. I reacted.

  I didn't run to catch her—I was too far away. I used Shadow Magic.

  I flicked my wrist.

  From the shadow of a nearby tree, a tendril of darkness shot out. It moved faster than the eye could follow. It wrapped gently around Valerie’s waist just inches before she hit the ground.

  It pulled.

  Valerie didn't hit the stone. She stopped in mid-air, hovering for a split second, before being gently set back on her feet.

  The scrolls landed around her with a chaotic clatter.

  Valerie stood there, blinking. She looked down at her feet. She looked at the stone.

  "Whoa," she whispered. "I... I didn't fall?"

  Bram looked confused. "You possess cat-like reflexes, human. I didn't see you move, but you righted yourself instantly."

  "I... guess so?" Valerie rubbed her waist where the shadow had grabbed her. She frowned. "Felt like someone pulled me."

  She turned around.

  She looked straight at the tree where I was hiding.

  I pressed my back against the bark, holding my breath. My heart was hammering against my ribs.

  Close. Too close.

  "Hello?" Valerie called out.

  "Probably just the wind," Bram grunted, picking up her scrolls. "Come on. Pip ordered pizza."

  Valerie lingered for a second longer, her green eyes scanning the shadows. Then, she shrugged.

  "Yeah. Pizza. "

  She turned and walked away.

  I slid down the tree trunk until I was sitting on the grass. I wiped sweat from my forehead.

  "This," I whispered to the empty courtyard, "is going to kill me long before the Demon does."

  I waited ten seconds, then stood up and resumed my patrol.

  Five paces behind. Always watching.

  Entering the common room felt like walking into a minefield.

  To the untrained eye, it was a cozy scene. A fire crackled in the hearth. Bram was polishing his axe (again). Elara was reading. Pip and Roc-ta were vibrating with excitement around a stack of flat, cardboard boxes on the dining table.

  "Pizza!" Pip squeaked, opening a box to reveal a circle of dough covered in melted cheese and what looked like pepperoni, though knowing Pip, it was probably spiced salamander.

  "Finally," Valerie sighed, dropping her bag. She walked toward the table, rubbing her hands together. "I'm starving."

  I stood by the door, scanning the room for threats.

  Valerie reached for the pizza box. She grabbed the silver pizza wheel a circular blade used to slice the crust.

  My heart hammered against my ribs.

  I moved.

  I crossed the room in three long strides. Just as Valerie’s hand tightened around the handle of the cutter, I snatched it away.

  "I'll do that," I said, my voice tight.

  Valerie blinked, her hand hovering in empty air. She looked at me, confused.

  "Uh... okay?" she said slowly. "Thanks? But I can cut a pizza, Demian. I'm not five."

  "You are clumsy," I stated, slicing the pizza with surgical precision and terrifying speed. Chop. Chop. Chop. "I saw you trip over a cobblestone earlier. I am not risking you severing an artery and bleeding on the rug. It’s Persian."

  Valerie rolled her eyes. "You are obsessed with this rug."

  She reached for a slice. It was steaming hot. Cheese stretched in long, molten strings.

  Heat, my brain screamed. Thermal shock. Pain response.

  "Stop!" I barked.

  I slapped her hand away from the pizza.

  Valerie froze. The entire room went silent. Bram stopped polishing. Roc-ta stopped chewing.

  Valerie looked at her hand, then at me. Her green eyes narrowed.

  "Did you," she whispered, her voice dangerously low, "just slap my hand?"

  "It's too hot," I said, panic making me sound imperious and arrogant. "You will burn the roof of your mouth. Burns cause pain. Pain causes... stress."

  "Stress?" Valerie repeated, standing up straighter. "You know what causes stress, Demian? YOU."

  She reached for the bottle of red sauce on the table. 'Goblin Inferno: 5000 Scoville Units'.

  "I need spice," she muttered, grabbing the bottle.

  Chemical irritant! Capaicin induces sweating and heart rate elevation!

  I didn't think. I grabbed the bottle from her hand and threw it across the room.

  YEET.

  The bottle flew in a perfect arc and landed in the trash can. Clunk.

  "NO!" I shouted. "No spice! Mild only! You have a... delicate constitution!"

  That was the breaking point.

  Valerie slammed her hands on the table. The wood groaned.

  For a split second just a microsecond I saw it. A faint, neon-green flicker deep within her irises.

  I flinched, stepping back, bracing myself for a shockwave.

  But the glow faded. It was just human anger now.

  "What is WRONG with you?!" Valerie shouted, her face flushing red. "Since when are you my nanny? 'Don't cut the pizza! Don't eat the sauce!'"

  "I am ensuring your survival!" I argued, looking around nervously to see if the walls were cracking. "And the survival of everyone within a five-mile radius!"

  "I ate a sandwich yesterday without exploding, Demian! I think I can handle a pepperoni!"

  She grabbed a slice of pizza lukewarm now and pointed it at me like a weapon.

  "Back. Off," she growled. "Or I will... I don't know, put spiders in your bed."

  She took an aggressive bite of the pizza, glaring at me while she chewed.

  "Mmhph," she grunted angrily.

  I stood there, panting slightly, my hands raised in a defensive posture.

  "Fine," I said, adjusting my cuffs to regain some dignity. "Eat. But chew slowly. Choking is also a hazard."

  "What the hell is whrong with You!. I hate you," she mumbled, swallowing.

  "The feeling," I lied, my eyes glued to her vitals to make sure she wasn't turning into a portal, "is entirely mutual."

  I sat down opposite her. I didn't eat. I just watched her chew, calculating the pounds per square inch of her jaw pressure.

  Roc-ta leaned over to Bram."They are definitely mating," the wolf whispered loudly.

  "Definitely," Bram agreed, dipping his bread in the sauce I had thrown away. "It's a very aggressive courtship. I give it a week before one of them kills the other."

  I buried my face in my hands.

  One week, I thought. If we survive the night, it will be a miracle.

  What the hell is wrong with me!