What I really want to do is go the fuck home.
Nah, that’s a lie.
I know what I really want to do, but I also know what I have to do, and that’s attend all my classes like the good fucking boy my parentals demand I be. I fucking told them my head wasn’t in it this semester when they called to check in two weeks after orientation. They told me to be a man about my shit and suck it the fuck up.
In less colorful words, of course.
The problem is, I am a fucking man about my shit. I don’t bullshit, sugar coat, or take the easy way out of anything. I work my ass off, just like the rest of my brothers, because, like them, I know our world could shift at any moment if tragedy struck our parents and we’d be called to the throne as its temporary guardian until one of us completed the mandatory steps required to reign. Outside of my own bloodline, there isn’t a single person in this school who can outpower me, and that’s including the people paid to fucking be here.
Do I know all there is to know about our kind and our world, and every little thing required of every single person within it? No. Who the fuck does?
I’m well aware there will forever be more to learn, within these walls and outside of them, but for some reason, these last handful of weeks those walls started to feel like a prison cell, so naturally all I want to do is burst out of them.
My aggression has doubled, my focus has slipped, and for someone in my position, that’s some dangerous shit.
I’m an heir, a fucking Lord, son to the king of the Stygian people, of dark magic, and I’m over here manipulating suicide on my best fucking friend as a way to let out some anger and tension in hopes of feeding my twisted soul that’s ravaged but won’t share what it hungers for.
By the time I hear the gym doors leading into the locker room open, I’m already pushing through the front ones and out into the open air.
I make it five steps before Creed falls in line at my left, Sinner at my right, Legend having told us he would be late for lunch today.
“Heard what happened in training,” Creed says, his eyes scanning the area as we make our way across campus.
Our college is as old as it looks. The architecture crafted by ancient artists, some who are no longer with us. The ceilings reach for the sky with pointed talons before coming down around stained-glass windows. From the outside, it doesn’t look like much, but when you look closer, you notice small things. Like how the flowers that blossom from the gardens hold color profiles that don’t exist anywhere outside of Rathe, the realm and origin of the Gifted, and the grass blades are thicker. Even the black paint that has been licked over the walls just seems…more. Everything in our world is just like the ungifted world, only amplified. It’s kind of like theirs is constructed in sepia, and ours in vivid color.
“Word always did travel fast around here, even for a bunch of Gifted pricks.” I try not to let his words get to me as we continue our way down the path that leads to the main common room. The shine of gold ricochets off the pathway, hitting the lure purple, pinks, and blues that paint the sky. Our daylight is different to the human world too. In the way that ours is better. Saturn’s shadow hovers in the backdrop of pastel colors, and at night…well…
“You need to let this go.”
“You need to mind your own fuckin’ business.” I quicken my steps so I don’t have to walk beside him and listen to more of his bullshit the entire way. My agitation is growing more as the day goes on. It’s like I can hear a fucking ticking time bomb inside my head. The kind you don’t know when the final second rolls over.
My eyes drift right as I think that, roaming over the giant stone wing statue, its gold glittering from top to bottom as names materialize in the center, each one fading in, all to fade out and into another. Hundreds of murdered Gifted names are in that thing. The memorial is suspended in the air, golden swirls winding around its bottom and resign to its top, protecting it like it’s some kind of treasure.
Waste of magic if you asked me. They’re fucking dead. What’s a constant reminder of the long-ass list of murdered Gifted going to do other than be a constant reminder we’re not all invincible? But then again, maybe that’s what the council was going for, a way to keep the Gifted in line with a bit of low-key fear, making sure we never forget The Slasher, a Gifted male who slayed his own for sport, or so they claim.
I say someone fucked him over and his wrath knew no bounds. Sounds like some shit I might do if twisted the wrong way.
Bet that would get me out of this mandated bullshit of schooling.
Shaking my head, I look forward.
The sky-high class building materializes from the thick shrubs ahead, and as much as I try to count myself down from ten to calm my shit, I can feel my magic tingling down my spine and spreading through my fingertips. Before I can stop myself, I fling my hands out, the double doors bursting open with the gust of air I threw at them, and I don’t care that they slam against the wall with a loud crack.
Creed’s heavy huff sounds behind me, but I ignore him, as I ignore every person that tries to get in a quick hello as my brothers and I make our way toward our area of the cafeteria. A large round marble table is placed in the center of the room, pushed against the glass wall that overlooks the thick forest hidden behind, a safe spot barricaded within them for the shifters to roam free when feeling amped up. The backdrop of the pastel sky and vivid greenery spreads wide behind us, and every now and then I think about stripping fucking naked and shifting into a Lycan, just to run away from everything and everyone. I don’t want to be here. Usually, my brothers calm any storm that runs rampant inside of me. They’re not fucking strong enough for this one. I’m not even sure I am since I don’t know where the fuck it’s coming from.
My mind is playing games. Sometimes I feel like I’ve reached the tip of the mountain I was meant to climb, but when I get there, I look up, and the top is yet another hundred yards away. But I can’t fucking turn around and go back. I can’t stop and rest.
My body…no, my being demands I keep going. Reaching. Keep fucking searching.
A fucking clue to what I’m looking for would be nice.
No sooner than we sit down, do the servers appear from thin air, our meals of choice being lowered before us.
I give a curt nod, and the little blonde girl who sets mine down flashes me a smirk, her tongue sneaking out to dampen her lower lip suggestively before a small puff of white smoke is left in her place.
I hate how all meals are required to take place in the communal eatery zone, even when we’ve got shit to discuss, others have no business tuning in . We could use our magic to conceal our conversations, since we’re stronger than any other student here, but sometimes that’s about as obvious as dropping breadcrumbs leading to where we are.
The professors can sniff out whenever we use our magic, the heady smell of heavy lead thick in the air anytime we use it. They’d only ask us why, and since we have to be on our best behavior while being here, none of us really want to give any of the professors a reason to check in on us. Or tell the Ministry we’re “breaking the rules.”
Give me a fucking break.
“You need to figure out what the fuck your problem is, Knight, and then you need to wonder if it’s worth getting your dick all hard over it.”