"Hi!" one of the three people waiting for them spoke up. She was a smallish girl with purple hair and equally purple eyes. She wore a black vest, black trousers, and a brown jacket to top it off. The remaining two boys seemed to be twins, looking identical in black overalls like Goodluck's. "I'm Jasmine, and my Bloodgift is my wings.""Wings??" Mercy's face lit up. "Pretty cool! I'm Mercy, and I have plasma." She shook Jasmine's extended hand, then conjured a small, crackling green plasma whip. Jasmine managed to maintain a poker face, but the twins took a synchronized step backward. Even Goodluck shifted his weight uncomfortably. 'An Orsaan??' they all thought unanimously. Noticing their reactions, Isabel transformed abruptly into her beast form, the scales rippling over her skin."I'm Isabel," she growled, her yellow eyes narrowing. "Nice to meet you." She didn't need to state her power. Holst and Jon stated theirs as well, and so did the twins, Abel and Obed, who explained that the

The morning sun gleamed off the immense pentagon structure of the Greycoat headquarters. Jon, Isabel, Holst, and Mercy wove through the bustling foot traffic, following directions to the academy building nestled within the complex. It was a formidable, school-like structure of pale stone, its windows looking less like portals for learning and more like the slits of a fortress. At the entrance, two familiar figures leaned against the wall as if they’d been there for an age. "Ahoy, kids!" Godrick called out, his voice a cheerful boom from behind his plague mask. Goodluck, standing beside him, offered a silent, two-fingered wave. "How long have you guys been standing there?" Isabel asked, her tail giving a skeptical flick. "Give or take two hours," Godrick answered casually. "Two hours?!" Mercy scrubbed at her drowsy eyes. It was only 8 a.m., and she felt half-dead. The idea that anyone had been awake and waiting since 6 was horrifying. After a brief round of their usual bi

The following day, the Shattered Fang’s schedules finally pulled them in different directions. The mood at breakfast was a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.“Remember,” Jon said, pointing a spoon at Mercy. “First day in the special class. Be cool. Don’t set anything on fire you’re not supposed to.”“I make no promises,” Mercy replied, her eyes sparkling.“And you,” Holst said, turning to Isabel. “Try not to scare your new classmates too much.”Isabel just smirked, her tail giving a confident flick. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”---Jon & Holst: A Forbidden SubjectTheir class with Instructor Silas was titled “Applied Outlands Diplomacy.” Today, he was dissecting the fallout of a recent trade dispute between two minor Outland towns, a classic case study in his teachings.As he concluded, Jon’s hand shot up. “Instructor Silas, you speak about the effects of the Great Houses’ policies, but you never talk about the Houses themselves. If we’re to be mediators, shouldn’t we under

Proctor Valerius’s specialized class was less a classroom and more a seminary dedicated to a single subject: the Orsaan Holy Inferno. The circular chamber felt increasingly like a pressure cooker, the air thick with expectation and ancient dogma. Mercy sat with the six other “special” students, each an oddity in their own right—a boy whose skin could phase through solid wood, a girl whose voice could shatter glass at a specific pitch. But Mercy was the only one whose curriculum was an entire political and theological indoctrination.Today, Valerius had brought in a relic—a cracked, heat-warped piece of slate with faded Orsaan runes etched into it. She placed it on the central table with a reverence that was clinical, not devotional.“This was recovered from a razed village near the Orsaan northern border,” Valerius explained, her voice cool and detached. “The runes speak of ‘cleansing flame’ and ‘unworthy flesh.’ This is not poetry, Mercy. This is policy. To them, plasma is not just a