I walked through Skyfall Academy's front gates, feeling like a lone gazelle strolling into a pride of lions. Except these lions came in every color of the rainbow and most of them towered over me. A yellow and black striped Tanystropheus ducked her long neck to whisper something to a green Basilisk, both of them glancing my way. A group of Sasquatch teens in varsity jackets paused their conversation to watch me pass.
The hallways were a riot of color and motion - tails swishing, feathers rustling, horns and necks decorated with ribbons, hexagrammic gems and collars. I kept my pace steady, my expression neutral.
I'd memorized the school layout from their website, so I navigated the corridors with practiced confidence, even as my peripheral vision caught more and more curious, shocked or bothered stares.
They weren't outright attacking me yet, that would come much later in all sorts of insidious ways.
Skyfall's diversity quota imposed upon the school by the recently elected Silver Wing party required the Academy to accept a certain percentage of "non-pure" students, but most wealthy Omnitheans wouldn't let their mixed-breed children apply. This left the Academy desperately short on their Nullie numbers.
Scrolling through old social media posts about Skyfall Academy, revealed why this was the case. Those few who had attended in previous years rarely lasted the entire semester. The harassment was brutal, not just from students but sometimes from older teachers who viewed Nullies as living reminders of "genetic pollution" or “a waste of an education”. Last year's only Nullie student had transferred out after three months of what the school dismissively called "social adjustment difficulties." The unofficial forums told a darker story of "accidents" particularly during physical education, dungeon delving practice and dimensional field trips.
Simply put, nobody was insane enough to be bullied to death repeatedly… except for my crazy self. Because I had nothing left to lose and everything to gain.
. . .
As I passed by what appeared to be an art classroom, I suddenly became completely surrounded by a flock of Omnids.
Their eyes lit up like they'd discovered some rare specimen, which I suppose I was. Phones came out and the chattering started. The colorful crowd trapped me in a tight circle with no way out, like a leukocyte cell getting ready to devour a filthy parasite invader that managed to make its way into the body.
"Yeesh! Look at how smooth and pink he is!"
"Is it true that your bones will snap from a single tap of my tail?"
"Hold still, I need a reference shot for my comic!"
I tried to get a word in edgewise, but there was too much chatter and the crowd was entirely caught up in their frenzy. Phone cameras clicked from all sides and I was starting to feel like a zoo exhibit or a celebrity being bothered by paparazzis.
This won't do.
With a smirk, I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the stolen Omnimart Thunderclap Party Poppers. The loud thunderclap from the string pull echoed through the hallway like a gunshot, making several of the Omnids jump. All eyes shot towards my face, some with fear, others in confusion, the crowd-manifested memetic frenzy over my obvious human-ness broken like a spell.
I wondered if they expected the human to have a gun on them or something, the way they stared at me with shocked eyes. If Scab Row was anything to judge by, the answer was yes - most humans were a lowly, criminal underclass.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished artists," I announced, channeling my best showman voice. "Alexander Glock, photographer and fellow creative spirit, at your service. While I'm very flattered by your interest in my person, perhaps we could handle this more professionally?"
I pulled out my oversized phone, trying not to laugh at their startled expressions. "If you'd like to use me as a reference for your art projects, I'd be happy to provide a proper signed release form. Just share your Omnigram IDs with me. After all," I added with a theatrical wink, "we wouldn't want any copyright issues down the line, would we?"
The way their expressions shifted from surprise to sheepish understanding was priceless. They had expected a null weakling to take pics of and to post on Omnigram. Instead, a predator armed with a theoretical army of lawyers stared back at them with confident eyes.
The crowd thinned slightly as the more timid artists shuffled away, but many remained, eagerly sharing their Omnigram IDs with phone-to-phone screen taps.
I smiled as I gathered the IDs.
Private messages were like perfect digital skeleton keys - unlock the right doors, and you could access entire networks of information and influence. Each of these Omnids probably had their own circles, their own connections.
"I'll send you all the release forms tonight," I promised.
As the crowd dispersed, two figures lingered - a white and black Thunderbird and a dark red Olgoi-Khorkhoi. The Thunderbird was wearing a flashy blue dress, sparkly chainmail top with dark leather straps, steel wrist bracers and steel talon-covers shaped like bird skulls. The Mongolian Deathworm had a dark leather biker's outfit topped with a lavish, gold, semi transparent robe clipped to gold-plated shoulder covers.
"Sup. I'm Vespera," the Thunderbird introduced herself, her feathers sparkling ever so slightly. "Your bone structure is baller - mind a few selfies? Are you… a pure human?”
“Close to one,” I shrugged.
“How close?” the Olgoi-Khorkhoi beside her demanded with a scowl. Her forehead mouth was giving me the heebie jeebies.
"I'm what they call a Hominull Omnithis," I explained, keeping my tone light. "Dad was a Thunderbird too, actually. Though obviously I didn't inherit much beyond amplified intelligence and some basic resistance to electricity."
"A mixed-blood?" Vespera tilted her head slightly, her previous fascination with me cooling several degrees. "Oh. That's... Um. We had one of those last year. She, umm… transferred to another school.”
“Dum nullie beerch couldn’t handle the Arx-delving,” the Olgoi-Khorkhoi rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t even stick to her assigned group's Inn. Got chopped up in Shandria overnight like a stakeling."
Riiiight. I thought. I knew exactly what happened to Sarah Nisteroff. The forums had been quite detailed about her "accident", including photos of her remains taken by the Corpse-Seeker. The Phoenix Forge had brought her back, but the PTSD from being slowly sliced joint by joint like sushi by Shadow blades had remained... Transferring schools was probably the kindest option.
"Oh! You should like totally join the History Club. We're always looking for... diverse perspectives," Vespera said in a thick Valley girl accent. “I’m a big fan of old cultures n’ such. Have a couple of Lamassu statues from the citadel of Sargon of Akkad at home facing the front door!"
I caught the undertone in her voice, the way her steel-gray eyes gleamed with sparks of gold. The invitation wasn't entirely friendly - it was a challenge. Or maybe a threat.
"Hrm. What does the History Club do?" I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral despite the predatory look in Vespera's eyes.
"Oh, you know," she waved a perfectly manicured, amored hand, her black and white feathers rustling. "We dress up in period-accurate costumes, take aesthetic photos for our Omnigram, and sometimes we do historical reenactments." Her smile showed too many razor-sharp, pearly-white teeth. "Last week we were studying medieval European warfare. Had quite a few... hands-on lessons with maces and flails."
"Verrry hands-on," the Olgoi-Khorkhoi grinned, cracking her knuckles.
“We’ve got a bunch of old humani outfits too, 1580s Renaissance armor belonging to medieval prince-knights and such, I’d totes love to see what they look like on a fully-human-shaped, mixie Omnid like you,” Vespera smiled.
“Sounds fun. Count me in,” I agreed. “I do enjoy dressing up and smashing things. Good practice to break the mold.”
Both girls blinked in surprise at my eager acceptance. Clearly they'd expected me to pick up on their thinly veiled threats and run away.
"Really?" Vespera's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose. "Most... nul... um, non-reinforced, low level peeps tend to avoid our club on account of breaking their limbs or snouts too often.”
"Most people clearly don't appreciate history enough," I said with a shrug. "Omnigram me the details and I'll be there."
"I'll make sure to find you myself... if you chicken out on us, nullie." The Olgoi-Khorkhoi leaned forward menacingly.
"Pfff. I'm absolutely looking forward to smashing your lovely face with a mace, Solace Exill," I replied smoothly, enjoying the way her gold eyes widened in shock. "I'd never chicken out of a good medieval battle reenactment."
The death worm took a step back, her reddish-brown scales bristling. "How do you know my-"
"Name? I make it my business to know everyone," I said with a casual shrug. "I'm part Thundergod after all, even if I don't look like it on the outside. We collect small, shiny things on the ground. Like dropped names," I added with a wink. "Plus, your Omnigram profile is public. Nice motorcycle collection, by the way."
Solace choked in reply while Vespera laughed.
"You are a clever one! So do you, like, carry store-bought Thunderclaps with you everywhere?" the Thunder-girl asked.
"Only when I really need to catch the attention of such charming ladies," I replied with a wink.
Vespera giggled, a white and black hand covering up her beak. Solace huffed.
"You're cute, for a mixie," Vespera said.
“I try,” I replied.
“Aight, I wan’ a selfie with ya,” she added.
Suddenly, both girls pressed against me, squeezing me between them. I fought to keep my expression neutral as Solace's enhanced strength threatened to crack my ribs while Vespera's electrical field made my hair stand on end, making my bones hum and throb.
"Smile for the camera!" Vespera chirped, her electrified wing wrapping around my shoulders.
Her embrace felt like hugging a high voltage power transformer. I smiled wide, ignoring how her sharp claws dug into my side probably leaving violet bruises.
We took a few selfies together, their phones clicking away.
After trading contact info, the pair departed with more giggles, already tapping away at their screens. I watched them go, mentally filing them under 'useful airheads', the kind that would click on a phishing link without even thinking about it.
----------------------------------------
The Administration’s office was exactly where the map said it would be.
A reinforced crystal case wall featuring various student achievements stood in front of the office crammed with all sorts of awards, crafts and student accolades.
From all of the random magical and mundane stuff within, my eyes immediately became drawn to a rather catchy painting.
The art depicted a small town with a gray cathedral in the center. Autumn leaves fluttered in the wind after the end-of-summer rain. A futuristic-looking white ring divided the sky like a massive imaginary megastructure. Four human teens, about fifteen years old, were sitting under a tree, enjoying a sushi picnic. A girl with pure white hair and yellow hardhat, a boy with brown hair, a girl in gray armor and gray cape and a girl in pink pjs with ginger hair.
I stared at the painting for a few minutes. Something about it, called out to me, like an old dream that I once had, a song that I had long forgotten. It was the oddest, incredibly unnerving sensation like the tongue suddenly finding a missing tooth.
I took a photo of the painting, trying to understand how it could screw with my mind as if it was implying that I was one of the teenagers, the boy sitting under that tree. Was it painted with the blood of some alien beast or something?
“K. Kells, grade 11,” I read on a gold plaque below. “Hrm. Pretty damn good art and mind-control skills Kells. If you didn’t already graduate, I just might have some competition here.”
I tore my gaze away from the unsettling painting and pushed open the heavy oak door to the admin office.
The secretary - a Kitsune with pristine white fur and nine tails - looked up from her computer. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly as she took in my appearance, but her professional smile never wavered.
"Alexander Glock for 9:15," I said before she could ask.
"Ah yes, Mr. Glock. You're five minutes early. Please have a seat. The Vice Principal will see you shortly."
The waiting area walls were covered with the usual school propaganda - motivational images featuring diverse groups of Omnitheans and the occasional token mixie achieving together, sports team photos, academic awards plus the utterly useless anti-bullying and anti-smoking posters.
I sat in one of the plush chairs, going over my newly acquired contact list.
Vespera already posted the selfie she took along with a caption: "Found the cutest little mixie! 🥺 Can we keep him? #NewPet #DiversityWin #HistoryClubInitiation"
I fought back a smirk. Let them think I was some harmless curiosity. It would make things easier in the long run.
. . .
"Mr. Glock?" The Kitsune secretary called. "Vice Principal Graves will see you now."
I entered the office and immediately had to crane my neck up. Waaaay up.
Vice-Principal Graves towered over his mahogany desk, his impossibly tall, thin form wrapped in an immaculate black suit. Where his face should have been there was… nothing at all.
It's not like there were no features, it was most like my brain simply refused to focus on the pure emptiness therein.
Yet somehow, despite lacking any eyes, I got the distinct impression that the man was studying me intently.
"Please, have a seat," he said, his voice manifesting in my head as a creaky, staticky whisper. Long, spindly fingers gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
I sat down, keeping my expression neutral despite the way my skin crawled. Unlike the Quetzalcoatl girl who forced me to fall in love with her, the slenderman Vice Principal made me feel pure and absolute pants-shitting fear.
Unlike love, fear was easy enough to defeat. I felt fear before while running or hiding from the law. Thus, I was ready for it, stamping it down with positive thoughts of my impending immortality.
"Alexander Glock," the Vice Principal's voice echoed in my skull, making me jolt. "Your application was... most interesting. We don't get many transfer students mid-semester, especially those of mixed heritage."
I met his non-existent gaze steadily, channeling every ounce of confidence I could muster. "My previous school burned down, sir. I didn't want to fall behind in my studies."
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The Vice Principal went silent for a moment as I slid a newspaper clipping to him.
[Historic St. Christopher's Academy goes up in flames. By Samuella Lacross. SA News.
A devastating fire ravaged St. Christopher's Nazarite Academy early Wednesday morning, leaving the historic institution in ruins. The blaze, which started around 3 AM in the east wing, quickly spread through the century-old structure.
'The damage is extensive,' reported Fire Chief Marcus Winters. 'The main academic building is a total loss, with severe structural damage to the gymnasium and administrative offices.'
No injuries were reported as the fire occurred hours before students and staff would have arrived for classes. Initial investigations suggest an electrical malfunction in the aging wiring system may be to blame...]
The Vice Principal's fingers delicately picked up the newspaper clipping, the paper crinkling unnaturally in his grasp. Though he had no visible eyes, I could feel his attention scanning every word.
"Most... unfortunate," he finally said, that staticky whisper making my teeth ache.
I nodded. “Father O'Malley assisted with my transfer here. You talked to him on the phone, yes?”
“Yes,” The Vice Principal said. "Father O'Malley of St. Christopher gave you a rather glowing recommendation.”
I smiled. Obviously my AI gave me a good recommendation. It wasn’t very hard to give Yulia a deep, male, priestly voice on the phone.
“So, tell me, Mr. Glock, why Skyfall Academy specifically?" the extra-long man asked.
"Skyfall Academy has always been my dream school, sir," I replied, letting a carefully measured amount of enthusiasm seep into my voice. "My father… Dr. Glock. He always spoke so highly of Omnithornia's educational system. Before he perished in that tragic avalanche... he mentioned wanting me to attend here.”
I sniffed, thinking about mom. “I was hoping that the rescuers would find his Lazarus bracelet and bring him back, but alas, his body must have fallen into a very deep crevasse.”
The Vice Principal nodded again.
I paused, letting my voice catch slightly. "After losing both of my parents, I wanted to honor his wishes. And the Academy's reputation for excellence, especially in dimensional delving and artifact crafting... Well, it seemed like the perfect place to challenge myself."
The Vice Principal's void-like head tilted slightly. "Your father… Marcus Glock was a Level 68 Clerk at the Department of Atmospheric Phenomena?"
"Yes sir," I nodded. "Dad worked in Celestorm weather precognition analysis. Not the most glamorous position, but he was proud of his contribution to the Omnithean Superstate."
And your mother?"
"Mirriam Kilborne," I said softly, using my real mother's name. Sometimes the best lies were wrapped in truth. "She was… a human. A compsi employee of the North Acadia Wendigo Frontenachii Omnicorp. I... had to take some time off school to help with her care."
I let go of Alex.exe and looked down at my hands which started to tremble as my eyes filled with more sparks of tears. An absolute kernel of heart-breaking truth had to be the foundation of any well spun tale. "She passed away last spring."
"I see," Vice Principal Graves' voice resonated with something that might have been sympathy. "And you've been on your own since?"
"Yes sir. A portion of the insurance money from dad's skiing accident went to me and helped cover immediate expenses such as my mom’s debt, and mom's medical benefits from Omnicorp provided some support. But..." I let my voice trail off, injecting just the right amount of determined optimism. "I'm not looking for handouts. I want to earn my place here, prove that I can contribute something valuable despite my... mixed heritage."
The void where his face should be seemed to ripple slightly. "Your academic records from St. Christopher's are quite impressive, particularly in creative arts and computer science. Though I notice a concerning gap in your physical education scores."
"The Nazarite school curriculum wasn't very focused on combat or delve training," I admitted with carefully crafted sheepishness. "But I'm eager to learn and level up! I know I'll have to work twice or thrice as hard to catch up, but I'm prepared for that challenge."
"You do understand that Skyfall's curriculum is... Exceptionally demanding?" The Vice Principal's needlessly long fingers drummed on his desk, dark tentacles writhing and inexplicably sinking elsewhere behind his suit. "Particularly for students of mixed heritage. Our last mixed-blood student found the adjustment... difficult."
I nodded solemnly. "I've read about Sarah Nisteroff's... transfer, sir. I understand the risks. But I believe that facing challenges head-on is better than hiding from them. My father always said that true growth comes from pushing beyond our perceived limitations."
I got the distinct impression that the lanky, faceless Omnid was pleased by my response. Was he projecting his emotions into my head or something? "An admirable attitude, Mr. Glock. Though I must warn you - our Phoenix Forge system, while remarkable, is not a guarantee of safety. The psychological impact of... repeated restoration can be significant."
"I understand, sir," I said firmly. "I'm not afraid of failure, or pain, or death. I'm afraid of not trying at all. If I fall down, I will rise again just like Saint Lazarus. Always. No matter what.”
The void where his face should be seemed to study me for a long moment. Finally, he reached into his desk drawer.
"Very well, Mr. Glock. Welcome to Skyfall Academy." He slid a dark hexagon-textured sphere across the desk towards me. "Please be aware that the Lazarus bracelet must be worn at all times. In the event of your... Eventual demise... a fellow student, Familiar Corpse Seeker, or faculty member will take the bracelet to the Lazarus cavern for restoration to occur.”
“Is there, like, a time limit on the restoration?” I asked, pretending to be a clueless kid.
“The longer you stay dead, the more therapy you will require after,” the Slenderman sighed. “Our policy is to restore the dead as soon as possible or within the twenty four hours limit.”
“What happens after twenty four hours?” I gulped.
“Soul decay,” he answered.
“How fatal is that?”
“That depends on your mental fortitude and the level of your soul,” he explained. “Some Omnids can stay dead for months while others decay into insanity in just a few days.”
"I see. Okay, how do I make the bracelet connect with my soul?" I asked.
"Simply touch it and say - bind me," he answered.
"Bind me," I tapped the ball with a finger.
The dark hexagonal sphere suddenly animated, unfurling like a mechanical centipede. The segments rippled with an oily sheen as the centipede ran to my left arm and wrapped around my wrist, each hexagonal plate clicking into place with microscopic precision. There was a brief, sharp pain as two-dimensional jagged blades pierced my skin, connecting to my nervous system.
A chilly ripple slowly ran across my entire body from my wrist, making me shudder.
The Lazarus bracelet pulsed once with a deep crimson glow before settling into a dormant state, the blades gone, now just a sleek band of interlocking dark hexagons around my wrist. It felt surprisingly warm against my skin, like it was alive. Or maybe it was just drawing power from my body heat.
"The initialization process is complete," Vice Principal Graves noted. "I was worried that maybe your Wormwood genetic marker would be too low, but it seems to be in good working order. Usually there's an official ceremony and whatnot, but you did register at a rather busy time of year after Winter See-Mass break."
I nodded.
"If I may ask," Graves inquired curiously, "why did you live with your human mother rather than your Omnithean father after the divorce?"
I let a carefully rehearsed flash of pain across my face. "There... wasn't a divorce or a marriage, sir. Dad was never really in the picture much. He and mom... it was complicated. Acadia doesn't permit polygamic marriages like Omnithornia. Plus, the Department kept him busy, and mom said he had his own family to worry about." I looked down at my hands, letting my voice grow quieter. "I only saw him a few times a year, usually at random. But he always made sure to send support payments and birthday cards. He preferred to keep his distance. Said it was better for his career prospects if certain circles didn't know about his... indiscretion up north."
The tentacles behind the long man seemed to darken slightly. "I see. A... common arrangement with mixed heritage situations." His tone carried a hint of disapproval. "And you're staying at..." He consulted the paperwork, "8008 Fallin Street?"
"Yes sir," I nodded, keeping my expression neutral despite the way my stomach clenched. "It's temporary housing while I look for something closer to campus. The landlord, Mr. Peterson, has been very... accommodating. Sadly someone keeps breaking into the mailbox, so here's a PO box address for any of my school mail."
I slid a document over to Mr. Graves.
"Scab Row is hardly an appropriate residence for a Skyfall student," the Vice Principal's fuzzy voice rippled with clear distaste. "We do have dormitory accommodations available, though there would be additional fees..."
"I appreciate the offer, sir," I said quickly. "But my scholarship doesn't cover a residence. The apartment is... adequate for now. Dad rented it for me last year," I added smoothly. "His aunt lived in the area thirty years ago, back when Scab Row wasn't... well, quite as rough as it is now. Said it used to be quite the artistic community. That was of course before the Topaz-peddling gangs took over the area."
"M-yes," the Slenderman sighed. "That neighborhood has... changed significantly."
I nodded.
"Given your unique living circumstances, I believe that you qualify for our Community Support Initiative."
Yesss. Bless me with nom perks.
"Really?" I looked up hopefully, voice still trembling. "I... I don't want to be a burden..."
"Nonsense," he waved one elongated hand dismissively. "Education is never a burden and you will pay the meal card off after graduation. Now, these forms will need to be filled out..." He began explaining the paperwork.
I nodded along as Vice Principal Graves walked me through the various forms and policies, carefully noting which ones might be useful later. The meal card he handed to me was a godsend - theoretically unlimited food from any campus cafeteria or vending machine. No more living off stolen protein bars for me!
"Your class schedule will be arranged with the assistance of our Student Council Representatives," Vice Principal Graves continued, shuffling through more papers with his impossibly long fingers.
"Isn't that usually an administrative task?" I asked.
"Skyfall Academy believes in empowering our student leadership. The Student Council has shown remarkable insight in evaluating new transfers and making appropriate class placement recommendations. They can assess... social dynamics that we as administrators might miss."
I translated that in my head: 'They figure out if you're worth keeping or not.'
"The Council's suggestions are usually quite accurate," he continued.
I nodded.
"Let me call in our Student Council representatives. They'll give you a tour of the facilities and interview you." His spindly finger pressed down on the intercom button. "Christi Negal and Lance Nova to the Vice Principal's office, please."
While we waited, Vice Principal Graves continued reviewing policies - dress code (nonexistent due to the incredibly diverse student body, business casual for showcase events, hexamesh or heavier armor for delves), attendance requirements (death was not an excuse for missing assignments), and the various clubs and activities available.
I nodded along, but my mind was racing.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Two figures entered - a tall, bulky, gray-skinned Dover Demon with piercing orange eyes, and a slender girl with yellow-brown-black skin, bright yellow eyes and fiery orange head of flames.
"Lance Nova," Yulia whispered in my ear. "Brother to Cassiopeia Nova." Ah, the punk angel who'd short-circuited my brain earlier. "A Dover Demon, firstborn son of Justice Nova."
"Christi Negal," the LLM added. "Cherufe. Fire elemental. Student Council Secretary. Daughter of Minister Nitish Negal."
"Ah, Lance, Christi," Vice Principal Graves declared jovially, nearly giving me a heart attack. "This is Alexander Glock, our new transfer student from Acadia. I'd like you to help arrange his class schedule and show him around campus."
I examined the students. Christi was wearing a classy pink and black suit and skirt while Lance was dressed in a neutral gray tracksuit with a Hexamesh outfit underneath glittering with gold hexagons.
"Hi! Welcome to Skyfall Academy!" Christi practically bounced forward, her enthusiasm fiery like a small sun. Her hair flared brighter, radiating heart. "We're so happy to have you here! Aren't we, Laaancy?"
"Of course," Lance nodded, his voice warm and friendly despite his slightly imposing bulk. "It's not often we get transfer students, especially from so far up North!"
"We'll take good care of him, sir," Lance turned to the Vice Principal. "The Student Council takes its mentoring responsibilities very seriously."
"Thank you both," Vice Principal Graves nodded. "Mr. Glock, you're in good hands. Please remember that my door is always open if you have any concerns."
I stood, gathering my paperwork. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate this opportunity."
As we left the office, Christi immediately linked her arm through mine, her skin radiating an uncomfortable amount of heat. "So! Alexander! Can I call you Alex? Tell us all about yourself! What brings you to Skyfall? What are your interests? Do you like spicy food? What's your favorite color? Have you ever been in a dungeon..."
I blinked at her, not able to let a single word into the machine-gun stutter.
"...delve before? Oh! Do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Or both? Or several? What's your star sign?" Christi's rapid-fire questions came out in an excited rush, her fiery hair and eyes flickering with each word.
Lance simply walked beside us, eyeing me up.
I tried to edge away slightly from the scalding touch without being too obvious about it. "Um, Alex is fine. Dad recommended the school. I'm mostly interested in photography, art and computer science. No dungeoneering experience yet. Single and on the lookout for a partner or two. I like spicy food just fine," I continued, trying to match Christi's enthusiastic energy while subtly creating a bit more space between us. My arm was starting to feel like it was getting sunburned. "As for my favorite color... silver-blue tone. And I'm a Scorpio... I think?"
"You're an Aquarius," Yulia commented into my earpiece. I ignored her.
Martin was an Aquarius. Alexander Glock was a Scorpion with a gun!
"Ohmigosh, you're going to love it here!" Christi squealed, her hair flaring brighter. "We have the best art program and amazing delving opportunities and the computer lab just got upgraded with lab grown meta-flesh processors, and there's this amazing Thai place nearby that does the most incredible curry..."
"Christi," Lance cut in smoothly, "perhaps we should focus on his class schedule first? We don't want to overwhelm our new friend. Also, I think you're burning his shirt."
"Oh! Sorry!" Christi released my arm, looking sheepish as I tried not to wince at the scorched fabric. "I get excited meeting new people! Especially mixed-heritage students - we don't get many of those!"
"It's fine," I assured her, discreetly patting out a small ember. "I appreciate the extra-warm and sparkly welcome."
Lance rolled his eyes at my terrible pun while Christi burst into delighted giggles, her hair raining sparks.
As we walked through the halls, I carefully observed my two guides, mentally cataloging every detail. Their dynamic was interesting - Christi dominated the conversation while Lance seemed content to let her take the lead, occasionally adding helpful comments.
"So how long have you two been on the student council?" I asked.
"Since sophomore year!" Christi beamed.
"Uh-huh," I nodded. "So is there more student council body or is it just you two?"
"Oh no, there's lots more of us!" Christi's flames danced excitedly. "Quint Thornton is our President - he's a Wendigo, super organized and really good at getting things done. He’s manning the office right now! Then there's Mira Blackquill, our Treasurer - she's a Basilisk and absolutely brilliant with numbers. Jasper Froth handles Athletics - he's a Yeti like Coach Canard. And Diana Moonwanes is our Events Coordinator - she's a Skinwalker, amazing at planning parties! Plus we have class representatives for each grade level. I'm the rep for your grade!"
"The Council handles everything from club budgets to school events to student disputes," Lance added. "We take our responsibilities very seriously."
"Sounds intense," I commented, recalling seeing a few “best of class” delving awards in the name of Lance Nova. "How do you balance all that with classes and delving practice?"
"Oh, it's not so bad!" Christi waved me off, trailing sparks. "We're all pretty good at multitasking. I've always loved helping organize events and making sure everything runs smoothly," She fired more words out like a machine-gun. "Plus it looks great on college applications! Oh and the cafeteria is right through here," Christi gestured enthusiastically. "The food's expensive but sooo good, especially on Taco Tuesdays! Lance and I always share lunch. Feel free to join us tomorrow! Wouldn’t want you to eat by yourself!"
"That won’t be a problem," I said.
“Oh? You already know someone to sit with?” Christi tilted her head looking a bit disappointed.
“Nah,” I said. “I’ll be setting up a chess game or two during lunch and offering people to beat me.”
“Oh, how fun! You’re into chess too!” Christi bobbled, leading me to the school courtyard from the dining hall.
She dropped onto a wooden park bench with a big smile, her pink skirt fluttering in the wind. Small embers danced around her as she patted the spot next to her. The bench was positioned perfectly to catch both the morning sun and a view of Skyfall Academy's imposing architecture.
"This is my favorite spot," she declared proudly. "You can see everything from here! Look at those white spires - aren't they gorgeous? They're made from processed mana crystals, harvested from the deepest delving zones and then fused to the Leviathan's bones comprising the brickwork. They glow all sorts of pretty colors at sunset!"
I settled carefully beside her, maintaining a respectful distance to avoid any accidental burns. Lance remained standing, his gray bulk casting a shadow over us.
"The Academy's architecture is... certainly interesting," I commented, studying the way the white crystalline towers sparkled in the light. "Very different from St. Christopher's. We just had regular stone and brick buildings."
"Oh, this is nothing compared to what's inside those spires!" Christi's hair flickered excitedly. "The upper levels have these amazing meditation rooms where you can practice channeling your powers and level up! And the view from the top is absolutely incredible - you can see all the way to the Dreadspine mountains on a clear day!"
She gestured enthusiastically at various spots around the courtyard. "That corner over there is perfect for studying between classes - it gets great shade in the afternoon.
"And over there is where most students hang out during breaks," Christi continued, pointing to a cluster of benches and tables near a massive ancient oak tree.
"Though you might want to avoid the West Wing of the park - that's where the Skinwalker clans tends to gather. They can be a bit... intense about their territory."
I nodded. "Any other spots I should know about?"
"The library is handy for a studious mind," Lance spoke up. "Nine floors of arcane and mundane books, plus private study rooms."
After another hour of roaming across the massive Cathedraltown-Citadel style campus, the pair led me to the student council office where I was rapidly introduced to the student president manning the computer desk.
The student council office was a stark contrast to the rest of the school's white gothic revival aesthetic. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, and antique brass fixtures cast a warm glow over everything. The room felt more like an old-world gentleman's club than a high school administrative space.
Quint Thornton sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his tall antlers casting branching shadows across stacks of paperwork. The Wendigo's amber eyes glowed faintly as he looked up from his computer screen, studying me with predatory intensity.
"Alexander Glock," he said, rising to his full height. His blue-grey felt suit was immaculate, dark gray vest underneath and white tie spotless. "We've been expecting you."
Something about him and the room he inhabited radiated the aura of gangster-era prohibition boss - the kind who'd politely offer you tea before having you thrown into the river wearing concrete shoes.
"Welcome to Skyfall Academy," Quint continued, extending a perfectly manicured hand featuring dark claws. His grip was firm but not crushing - a professional's handshake. "I trust Lance and Christi have been showing you around?"
"Yes, they've been very helpful," I replied, matching his formal tone. "Your school is impressive."
"Our school," he corrected smoothly. "You're one of us now, Mr. Glock. May I call you Alex?"
"Of course," I nodded.
"Excellent. Please, have a seat." He gestured to one of the plush, red leather armchairs facing his desk.
"Now then, Alex," Quint settled back into his chair, steepling his fingers. His amber eyes seemed to glow brighter within the sockets of his bone-like face, and I felt a subtle pressure building behind my eyes. "Tell me about your... aspirations here at Skyfall."
Ah. The classic Wendigo mind-probe. I’ve dealt with this sort of bullshit before - a Wendigo clan owned the company my mom was legally bound to and overworked her straight towards her tragic death.
The horned bastard could taste lies and fears through direct eye contact and was already digging his magic hooks deep into my head.