They have to understand why I’m doing this, why I trust Shade, and why I have to bring in an essence of hell.
It’s hope. A foolish hope perhaps, but it’s all I have left. To save myself. To save my men from the destruction of the thing that lives inside me. The thing I fear will never be controlled.
But Ihaveto.
My wings flap in powerful strokes at my back, pushing me through the air. I weave my way around the other winged Prods in the halls and push my way outside.
Warm setting sunlight washes over my face and a gentle wind snags against my long hair.Flying tangles it; I should really braid it back.The thought is lost as I veer left and into the copse of black, skeletal trees.
I dodge the maze of black bark, past fingered branches that seem to reach for me until I land in a clearing to find Professor Shade waiting for me.
Today, he’s not wearing a sweatpants suit, which is odd. He rarely ever wears anything else. Today he’s in a sleek black suit with a white collar shirt, the buttons opened to reveal the solid panes of his chest.
Gold cufflinks decorate the wrists of the suit. He’s clean cut, his hair slicked back with one lone strand against his forehead.
I land in front of him, my wings fanning out and causing dust to fly in a cloud around us, a smile on my face.
“You look sharp today, Professor.”
His smile is a blinding, handsome thing on his face. He fingers the sleeve of his cuffs as he speaks, “That’s because today is a very special day, Izara.”
My eyebrows raise at the excited tone of his voice. “Oh, really?” I lean forward on the toes of my shoes. “And why is that?”
“Because…” He spreads his arms out at his sides. “Today is the day we bring the essence of hell to you.”
Hope flares to life in my chest. It was a kernel before and now its burning embers erupting in a blazing inferno. I’m struck speechless for a single moment, struggling to find the right words. When the pounding of my heart catches up to my racing brain, I take a desperate step towards him.
“You found a way?” I grasp his lapels in my fists and tug him closer.
Shade smiles and his hand encloses over mine, grasping, soothing. The look in his bicolored eyes is tender. “I did.” His palm smooths over my clenched fingers, gently prying them away so he can take my hand and hold it. His other hand comes up to my face, thumb brushing across my cheek. “You’re a daughter to me, Izara, do you know that?”
My throat tightens. When you’re born not knowing what you are or where you come from, you crave affection, no matter how much of it your adopted family gives to you, the ache is still there, living inside. It’s here now, and my heart grasps for those words and tucks them close.
“You’re very… important to me…” He’s like a birth father. Not in the sense that he donated his sperm to create me—ew—but in the sense that he’s kind and proud, he’s guided me and protected me ever since I came here. I love my adopted father, but he could never truly give me what Shade’s given me. And I can have two fathers, can’t I?
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He pulls away long enough to offer me his arm, which I take, and then we start walking along the forest grounds, back to the direction of the Academy. It’s a slow trek with lazy, casual movements back toward the academy grounds. “I mean it, though.” He stops for a second, and something in his posture, his voice wavers. “I started working at the Academy because of my son.”
I nod. “You mentioned that.” My heart aches, and my mind flashes back to the first circle of hell and the murderous angel stuck in limbo.
“I thought if I joined a school that’s meant to better people like my son that I could make a difference, but…” He runs his free hand through his hair. “The Academy is corrupt. You know this.”
“It’s kind of hard not to.”
A muscle in his cheek jumps. “It’s... difficult... being the only professor who cares about the students. I came here looking to help the Prodless; that’s why the Academy was founded in the first place, right? To help those in need so that we don’t suffer another Dark Genocide and lose our children?” He cuts off, his voice shaky. I squeeze his arm just a bit tighter for comfort. “But then you realized that neither the Academy nor the Supernatural council care about the Prodless. They want them to fail so they can take them and lock them up, kill them. Out of sight, out of mind. Because they’d rather murder what they don’t understand rather than take the time to get to know them, care for them.”
I was ‘them’. I was the Prodless that they meant to kill. They locked me up, they threatened me with death and have done nothing to help hone my powers. Not really. Because why bother when I’m meant for destruction anyway, for death? I don’t know what I am, so I don’t matter. Throw me into a crumbling dorm, give me a half-assed schedule, shitty teachers, and pray for the best. But there is no best here at the Academy. There’s nothing but violence and Prods going through the days on their own because the teachers can’t bring themselves to give a fuck.
They threw us into a pit of darkness and destruction, and it’s only a matter of seeing who comes out victorious.
“This place is corrupt.” We walk beneath the canopy of trees and slowly reach the edge of the forest and the clearing that leads up to the angel statue. “I want it to change. I think you do, too,” he says.
The broken body of his son flashes in my mind. So fragile, and killed all because, like me, he couldn’t control his Prod. That could have been me. It still could be me.
“I do.”
His smile is a confident thing. “You are great, Izara.” His thumb reaches out to push aside an errant strand of hair. “But you can be greater.”
The promise of power thrums to life. My Prod thrums to life and sends a taloned tip claw raking down my spine as she purrs, desperate for a taste of it. It’s hypnotic, seductive, and I fucking want it.
