The academy looms before us like some twisted gothic nightmare—all sharp spires and dark stone that seems to drink in the sunlight rather than reflect it. I swallow hard, my pulse quickening as Caleif leads me toward the massive iron gates.
"You didn't mention it would look like Dracula's summer home," I mutter, adjusting the gauntlet on my arm. It pulses faintly, as if sensing my unease.
Caleif's lips curve into that half-smile I've come to recognize as her version of laughter. "What were you expecting? Bright colors and a cheerful welcome banner?"
"Maybe some balloons," I shoot back, but my attempt at humor falls flat even to my own ears. Truth is, I'm terrified. Not of the building itself, but of what waits inside—of who waits inside. People—no, creatures—like me. Whatever "me" is becoming.
As we approach the gates, they swing open silently, revealing a courtyard bustling with activity. My steps falter as I take in the scene. Students of all shapes, sizes, and apparent species move between classes. Some look almost human, while others... definitely don't.
"Holy shit," I breathe, watching a girl with blue skin and what appears to be gills casually chatting with a boy whose shadow moves independently from his body. "This is real. This is actually happening."
"Welcome to the Eternal Flame Academy," Caleif says, a hint of pride in her voice. "Where those of demon heritage learn to control their abilities and understand their place in the world."
I scan the courtyard, taking in details that would have seemed impossible just weeks ago. A group of students practice what looks like combat techniques, their movements too fast for human reflexes. Others sit beneath twisted trees, books floating in front of them as they study.
"I don't belong here," I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Caleif's hand finds mine, her touch sending that now-familiar warmth through my system. "You do. More than you know."
Before I can respond, a tall figure approaches us. He moves with the liquid grace of a predator, his crimson robes flowing around him like living flame. His face is handsome in a severe way, with high cheekbones and eyes that burn with an inner light.
"Caleif Lynria," he says, his voice rich and resonant. "It has been too long."
"Master Valen," she replies, inclining her head slightly. "Thank you for accepting my request on such short notice."
His burning gaze shifts to me, and I fight the urge to step back. "So this is the one you spoke of. The human with Estingoth's gauntlet."
"Half-human," Caleif corrects gently. "Kamen has only recently learned of his heritage."
I blink in surprise. Half-human? She's never been this specific about what I am before. The gauntlet warms against my skin, as if confirming her words.
Valen circles me slowly, his scrutiny making my skin crawl. "Interesting. The gauntlet has bonded well with him. Better than the others."
"Others?" I ask, finding my voice at last. "There were others like me?"
A thin smile crosses Valen's face. "None exactly like you, Kamen Driscol. But yes, the gauntlet has chosen wielders before. They... did not fare as well as you have."
The implication hangs in the air between us. I think of the dark veins that spread up my arm after using Estingoth's power, of the strange dreams and sensations that have plagued me since our partial integration.
"What happened to them?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to know.
"They were consumed," Valen says simply. "The gauntlet requires balance—a wielder strong enough to contain its power without being overwhelmed by it. You appear to have found that balance, at least temporarily."
His words send a chill through me. Temporarily. As if my current state is just a brief respite before the inevitable.
"That's why we're here," Caleif interjects. "Kamen needs proper training to maintain that balance and develop his abilities."
Valen nods thoughtfully. "Indeed. Though I wonder if you've told him everything, Caleif. About why the gauntlet chose him specifically."
I turn to her, questions bubbling up. "What's he talking about?"
Something flickers across her face—hesitation, perhaps even guilt. "There will be time for that discussion later," she says, her tone making it clear the subject is closed for now.
Valen's smile widens slightly. "As you wish. For now, let us show your protégé what the academy has to offer." He gestures toward the main building. "Shall we begin the tour?"
As we walk across the courtyard, I feel dozens of eyes following our progress. Some curious, some wary, some openly hostile. I straighten my shoulders, refusing to show how unsettled I feel.
"They're staring," I mutter to Caleif.
"Of course they are," she replies quietly. "You're carrying one of the most powerful artifacts in demon history on your arm. And you smell of angel magic."
I nearly trip over my own feet. "I what?"
"Your encounter with Azazel left a trace on you," she explains, her voice tight. "It's faint, but those with keen senses can detect it."
Great. So not only am I the new kid, I'm the new kid who smells like the enemy. This day just keeps getting better.
As we enter the main hall, the temperature rises noticeably. The interior is surprisingly beautiful—vaulted ceilings with intricate carvings, walls lined with ancient texts, and floating orbs of light that cast a warm glow over everything.
"The academy was founded over three thousand years ago," Valen explains as we walk. "When demons first began to integrate with the human world in earnest. We needed a place to preserve our knowledge and train the next generation."
"So it's like Hogwarts for demons?" I quip, immediately regretting the comparison when Valen gives me a blank look.
"I'm not familiar with that institution," he says stiffly.
Caleif smothers what might have been a laugh. "Human reference, Master Valen. Their fictional schools for magic users."
"Ah." His expression suggests he finds the comparison lacking. "Well, unlike your human stories, the magic taught here is quite real. And considerably more dangerous."
As if to emphasize his point, an explosion echoes from a nearby classroom, followed by shouts and a plume of purple smoke. Valen doesn't even flinch.
"Advanced alchemy," he says dismissively. "The first years are always... enthusiastic."
We continue through winding corridors, passing classrooms where students practice everything from elemental manipulation to what looks disturbingly like combat with live weapons. In one room, a group meditates while suspended in mid-air, their bodies surrounded by auras of different colors.
"This is... a lot to take in," I admit, feeling increasingly overwhelmed.
"You'll adjust," Valen assures me, though his tone suggests he's not entirely convinced. "All new students do, eventually."
We stop before an ornate door inscribed with symbols that seem to shift and change as I look at them. Valen places his palm against it, and the door swings open to reveal a circular chamber lined with weapons of all kinds.
"The training hall," he announces. "Where theory meets practice. Perhaps a demonstration of your current abilities would help us determine where to begin your instruction."
I glance at Caleif, who nods encouragingly. "It's alright, Kamen. Show them what you can do."
Reluctantly, I step into the center of the room. The gauntlet pulses against my skin, responding to my nervousness with a faint crimson glow.
"Estingoth," I whisper, "a little help here would be nice."
His voice fills my mind, clearer than ever before. "Remember what we've learned. Focus on the connection between us. Let the power flow naturally."
I close my eyes, concentrating on that internal current of energy we've been practicing with. It comes easier now, rising from somewhere deep inside and flowing through my veins like liquid fire. When I open my eyes again, the gauntlet is fully activated, bathing the room in blood-red light.
Valen watches with undisguised interest. "Impressive control. Now, let's see what you can do with it."
He gestures, and a training dummy materializes in front of me. It's humanoid but featureless, made of some dark material that seems to absorb light.
"A simple test," he says. "Direct your energy toward the target."
I raise my arm, feeling the power building. With a thought, I release a blast of crimson energy that strikes the dummy square in the chest. Instead of being destroyed, it absorbs the attack, then glows with the same energy before firing it back at me.
Caught off guard, I barely manage to dodge, the redirected blast scorching the wall behind me.
"Lesson one," Valen says calmly, as if I hadn't just nearly been fried. "Never assume your power will affect all targets equally. This particular construct is designed to reflect energy-based attacks."
I glare at him. "A warning would have been nice."
"Warnings are luxuries rarely afforded in real combat," he replies with a shrug. "Try again. This time, perhaps a different approach?"
I circle the dummy warily, considering my options. The gauntlet can do more than just blast energy—Estingoth and I have been experimenting with other applications of its power.
"Any suggestions?" I ask Estingoth silently.
"Physical augmentation," he replies. "Channel the energy inward rather than outward."
Following his guidance, I redirect the flow of power back into my own body. Immediately, I feel stronger, faster, my senses sharpening to preternatural levels. With a burst of speed that surprises even me, I close the distance to the dummy and deliver a punch that sends it flying across the room.
It shatters against the far wall, fragments dissolving into smoke before they hit the floor.
Valen's eyebrows rise slightly—the first real reaction I've seen from him. "Very good. Not many novices think to use internal channeling. Estingoth's influence, I presume?"
I nod, flexing my hand as the enhanced strength fades. "We've been practicing."
"Clearly." He turns to Caleif. "He shows promise. Raw, untrained, but definite promise. I believe we can work with this."
She smiles, relief evident in her expression. "Thank you, Master Valen."
"Don't thank me yet," he cautions. "Training will be difficult, perhaps brutal at times. And there are those here who will not welcome him with open arms." His gaze shifts back to me. "The name Estingoth still carries weight in our world, and not all of it positive."
I straighten my shoulders, meeting his burning eyes directly. "I can handle it."
A hint of amusement crosses his features. "We shall see." He gestures toward the door. "Come. There is one more place you should visit before we discuss the specifics of your enrollment."
We follow him through more corridors, descending deeper into the academy. The air grows noticeably cooler, and the architecture changes from elegant to utilitarian.
The deeper we go, the more oppressive the atmosphere becomes. The walls here are older, carved from what looks like black stone that seems to pulse with its own inner darkness. I can feel the gauntlet responding to whatever energy permeates this place, growing warmer against my skin.
"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice echoing strangely in the narrow corridor.
"The Archive," Valen replies without turning around. "Where we keep the oldest texts and artifacts. There's something there you need to see."
The corridor opens into a vast chamber that takes my breath away. Shelves stretch up into darkness, filled with books, scrolls, and objects that radiate power. The air hums with barely contained magic, making my teeth ache.
"Holy shit," I breathe, staring up at the impossible height of the shelves. "How big is this place?"
"Bigger than it appears," Valen says, leading us toward the center of the chamber. "The Archive exists partially outside normal space. We've been collecting knowledge here for millennia."
In the center of the chamber stands a pedestal made of the same black stone as the walls. On it rests an open book, its pages glowing with soft golden light. As we approach, I can see text writing itself across the pages in real time, words appearing and disappearing like living things.
"The Chronicle of Binding," Valen explains, gesturing to the book. "It records every artifact bond in demon history. Every gauntlet, every blade, every crown of power that has chosen a wielder."
I lean closer, trying to read the flowing script. My name appears suddenly on the page, followed by a date and a series of symbols I don't recognize.
"That's me," I say, pointing to the entry. "What do the symbols mean?"
Valen's expression grows serious. "They indicate the nature of your bond with the gauntlet. Most wielders show a single symbol—conquest, protection, vengeance. You show three."
I feel Caleif tense beside me. "Three?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.
"Conquest, protection, and..." Valen pauses, studying the symbols more closely. "Redemption. A combination I've never seen before."
"What does that mean?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know.
"It means your bond with Estingoth is more complex than we initially understood," Valen replies. "The gauntlet didn't just choose you for power—it chose you for balance. To potentially heal the damage done by previous wielders."
I think of Estingoth's memories, of the warrior who became a monster in his quest for vengeance. "Is that even possible? Can the gauntlet be... cleansed?"
"I don't know," Valen admits. "But if anyone could do it, it would be someone who embodies all three aspects of its power."
The book's pages flutter suddenly, new text appearing in urgent, jagged script. Valen's face pales as he reads.
"What is it?" Caleif asks, moving closer.
"A warning," he says grimly. "The Academy is about to receive visitors. Angels, led by someone calling themselves the Purifier."
My blood runs cold. "Are they here for me?"
"Almost certainly." Valen closes the book with a snap. "We need to get you somewhere safe while we prepare the Academy's defenses."
"No," I say, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. "I'm tired of running. If they want me, they can come and get me."
Caleif grabs my arm. "Kamen, you're not ready for this kind of fight. Not yet."
"Maybe not," I agree, feeling the gauntlet pulse with eager energy. "But I'm not going to hide while other people fight my battles."
The gauntlet flares brighter, and I feel Estingoth's presence strengthening in my mind. "The boy is right," his voice echoes through the chamber, somehow audible to all of us. "We have run enough. It's time to face our enemies."
Valen looks between me and the gauntlet, then nods slowly. "Very well. But you'll need backup. I'll gather the senior students and faculty."
"And I'll contact my people," Caleif adds. "If angels are coming here, it's an act of war against all demon-kind."
As alarms begin to sound throughout the Academy, I feel a strange calm settling over me. For the first time since this all began, I'm not afraid. I'm ready.
The gauntlet pulses once more, and I smile grimly. "Come on then," I mutter, looking toward the ceiling as if I can see through it to the sky beyond. "Let's see what you've got."