“The Fall changed everything,” his tone darkens like storm clouds gathering. “Those who maintained their sacred purpose became what we now call light Nephilim.” The projection shows radiant figures with white wings that seem to glow from within, their faces serene and beautiful. “Those who surrendered to darker impulses became corrupted.” The image shifts to darker figures with black wings, their expressions twisted with what the projection suggests is malevolence.
My shadows curl tightly around my feet, responding to my irritation at this obviously biased bullshit narrative. I force them to remain still through sheer willpower, conscious of Constantine’s proximity and the way his amber eyes seem to track every movement.
“The divide might have remained a simple matter of ideology,” Thorne continues, his voice taking on the measured cadence of someone who’s told this story a thousand times, “if not for theemergence of dangerous abominations that threatened the very fabric of our world.”
The projection changes to show a winged figure with a strange crimson aura surrounding it like spilled blood. My blood runs cold, ice flooding my veins as recognition hits me like a physical blow.
“When light and dark bloodlines mixed, the resulting offspring occasionally manifested dual natures—beings capable of wielding both light and shadow, while also forming unnatural connections with Gifted humans. These abominations, called Ascendants, destabilized the careful balance between realms.”
My shadows instinctively withdraws, pressing flat against me as if trying to hide from view. The effort of maintaining control while hearing myself described as a fucking abomination makes my head pound with renewed intensity, and I taste copper where I’ve bitten my tongue.
“The light Nephilim, recognizing the threat, formed an alliance with human Hunters to identify and eliminate these dangerous anomalies,” Thorne explains with a clinical detachment that makes my skin crawl. “This Great Purge restored balance and established the faction system we maintain today.”
Beside me, Constantine shifts slightly, the movement subtle but somehow significant. When I glance over through my peripheral vision, his expression is unreadable, but there’s tension in the line of his jaw and the way his hands rest too carefully on his desk.
“Ascendants possessed several identifying characteristics,” Thorne continues, and I force myself to breathe normally despite the way my lungs feel like they’re constricting. “Wings with unique coloration, often bearing marks or patterns unlike pure bloodlines. Living shadows that responded to emotion rather than direct will. The ability to form Vessel bonds with multiple Gifted humans simultaneously.”
It takes every ounce of control not to react as he essentiallyreads off a fucking checklist of my traits. My shadows are practically nonexistent now, huddling so close to my body they’re nearly invisible, like a frightened animal trying to disappear.
“While Ascendants have been largely eliminated through careful bloodline management and vigilant monitoring, vigilance remains necessary,” Thorne concludes with the satisfaction of someone discussing a successfully completed extermination. “The last confirmed Ascendant was destroyed over seventy years ago, though unconfirmed reports surface occasionally.”
The light students look smugly satisfied, their collective glow brightening with what seems like pride. The dark ones mostly look bored, having heard this version of history their entire lives. I try to maintain the same expression of mild disinterest while internally screaming.
“Questions before we move to faction-specific developments after the Fall?” Thorne asks, his gaze sweeping the room.
A light Nephilim student with perfectly styled blonde hair raises her hand eagerly. “Is it true Ascendants could command others through their shadows?”
“Some historical accounts suggest such abilities,” Thorne acknowledges with the tone of someone discussing theoretical possibilities rather than describing real people who were murdered. “The gift of command was particularly feared, as it could potentially override free will.”
Great.Add mind control to my résumé of abominations.
“Were all Ascendants evil?” asks another student, this time from the shadow section. His voice carries genuine curiosity rather than the sneering superiority of the light students.
Thorne considers this, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Historical records indicate most Ascendants eventually succumbed to madness as their dual natures conflicted. Whether this constitutes ‘evil’ is perhaps philosophical rather than historical.”
“Seems convenient,” Constantine speaks up unexpectedlybeside me, his voice cutting through the classroom like a blade. “The very beings who threatened the light Nephilim’s power structure were universally deemed ‘unstable’ and eliminated.”
A ripple of surprise runs through the classroom like an electric current. Students turn in their seats to stare at him, and I can practically taste the tension in the air. Thorne raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting from professorial to something more guarded.
“An interesting perspective, Professor Constantine. The Hunter archives might offer unique insights than our academic records.”
“They might,” Constantine agrees mildly, but there’s steel beneath his casual tone. “History has many versions, depending on who’s telling the story.”
The tension in the room thickens like smoke, making the air feel heavy and oppressive. I stare straight ahead, afraid to look at Constantine, afraid my face might reveal too much.Why would a Hunter instructor question the official narrative about Ascendants? Is this some kind of test?
The remainder of the class covers the establishment of the faction system and the treaties that eventually led to places like Greyson, where different types could coexist under strict rules. Throughout, I maintain rigid control of my shadows while my mind races with implications of what I’ve learned, each revelation hitting me like a physical blow.
I’m not just different—I’m supposedly fucking extinct.
When class ends with the scrape of chairs and rustle of papers, I gather my things quickly, intending to escape before anyone can notice my distress or the way my hands are shaking.
“Dawn,” Constantine’s voice stops me at the door, authoritative enough that I can’t ignore it without looking suspicious. “A word?”
I consider ignoring him but decide that would look more suspicious than compliance. “Yes, Professor?”
He waits until the other students have cleared out, their voices fading down the stone corridor, before speaking. The silence that follows feels weighted with unspoken implications.
“Your shadows nearly disappeared during the lecture on Ascendants.”
