Two weeks passed in a blur of preparation that felt both endless and too fast.
Hermes spent most of it locked in his room, pretending to study while actually trying to figure out who the hell he was now. The answer, unfortunately, was complicated. Hermes Selenarch's memories were there—all seventeen years of them—but they felt distant, like watching someone else's life through frosted glass. Alexander's memories, though? Those were sharp. Clear. Painfully present.
He'd been murdered. Came back wrong. And now he had to attend school with demons.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
"You're brooding again." His father stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Kael Selenarch cut an imposing figure even for a demon—over two meters tall, horns that curved forward like a bull's, eyes that glowed faint amber in the dim light. "Your mother's worried."
"I'm fine." Hermes didn't look up from the tablet he'd been staring at for the past hour. Genesis Academy's course catalog, though he'd stopped reading it twenty minutes ago. The words had started blurring together.
Kael grunted. Stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "You've been different since the awakening. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Hermes's heart stuttered. Just for a second. "Different how?"
"Quieter. More..." Kael waved a hand, searching for the word. "Focused. Like you're thinking about something heavy." He paused. "Core awakenings change people. Especially violent ones. The power—it shows you things. Makes you see the world differently."
That was one way to put it.
"I'm just nervous," Hermes said. Carefully. "About the academy. About everything."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He was nervous—terrified, actually—just not for the reasons his father thought.
Kael's expression softened. He sat on the edge of the bed, making the frame creak. "Genesis Academy is where I met your mother. Best years of my life." A slight smile. "Also the most brutal. They don't go easy on you there. Rank determines everything—where you sit, what you eat, who you fight. The strong rise. The weak..." He shrugged. "They survive if they're lucky."
Hermes finally looked up. "Sounds terrible."
"It is." Kael's smile widened. "But it works. Makes you stronger. Prepares you for the real world." He reached out, gripped Hermes's shoulder. His hand was warm, solid. Real. "You're my son. You'll do fine."
Something twisted in Hermes's chest. Guilt, maybe. This man—this demon—believed in him. Loved him. And Hermes was using his son's body like a stolen suit.
"Thanks," he managed. The word felt inadequate.
Kael squeezed once more, then stood. "Ship leaves in three hours. Don't keep your mother waiting."
He left. The door closed with a soft click.
Hermes sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing. Then he reached inward, toward his Core. The black lightning responded immediately—always eager, always hungry. He'd been practicing control in stolen moments, learning to suppress it, hide it, make it behave. The power wanted to burn. Destroy. Instead he forced it down, compressed it into something small and manageable.
Rank 3. That's what he'd tell them. Average enough to be unremarkable, strong enough to be respected. Nobody looked twice at Rank 3 students.
Nobody would see him coming.
***
The spaceport was massive.
Hermes had Hermes's memories of it, but seeing it with his own eyes was different. Ships of every size and configuration filled the landing bays—personal transports, military cruisers, civilian haulers. The air smelled like ozone and fuel and too many bodies pressed into one space. Demons everywhere, mixed with the occasional elf or dwarf or demihuman. The four factions coexisted here, mostly peaceful. Mostly.
"Stay close," his mother said, pulling him through the crowd. Her hand was tight around his wrist. "The academy shuttle leaves from Bay Seventeen."
They navigated through the chaos. Hermes kept his head down, watching everyone and everything. Old habits. Alexander had survived thirty years by paying attention—by noticing the small details that separated friend from threat. That skill translated well to his new life.
Bay Seventeen was packed with students. Most looked around his age, seventeen to twenty, all trying to look tough or bored or unconcerned. Their parents hovered nearby, giving last-minute advice, fixing clothes, generally embarrassing their kids. Standard stuff. Universal stuff, apparently, even across species and lives.
Hermes spotted her immediately.
The elf stood apart from the crowd, leaning against a support pillar with her arms crossed. Tall—elves always were—with silver hair braided down her back and eyes the color of summer leaves. She wore the Genesis Academy uniform already: black with silver trim, crisp and new. A longsword hung at her hip, plain and practical.
What caught his attention wasn't her appearance. It was the way she was watching everyone. That same careful assessment he'd been doing. Cataloging threats, measuring strengths, planning escape routes.
Combat training. Serious combat training.
Their eyes met across the bay. Just for a second. Something flickered in her expression—confusion? Recognition?—then she looked away.
Hermes frowned. Elves had good instincts. Better than humans, usually. Had she sensed something? Noticed—
"Hermes." His mother's voice pulled him back. "You're not listening."
"Sorry." He focused on her. "What?"
She sighed, but there was affection in it. "I said be careful. Write when you can. And remember—power doesn't define you. How you use it does."
Words to live by. Or die by, depending.
He hugged her, surprised by how natural it felt. "I'll be careful."
"And eat properly. The academy food is terrible—I know, I suffered through it. But you need to keep your strength up."
"I will."
"And don't get into fights unless—"
"Mom." He pulled back, smiling despite himself. "I'll be fine."
She cupped his face with both hands. Studied him like she was memorizing every detail. "I know you will." Then she kissed his forehead and stepped back. "Go. Before I change my mind and keep you home."
Hermes grabbed his bag—one bag, that's all they were allowed—and joined the line of students boarding the shuttle. He didn't look back. Couldn't. The emotion twisting in his gut was too complicated to name.
The shuttle interior was standard transport layout: rows of seats, storage compartments overhead, windows showing the bay beyond. Hermes found a spot near the back and sat. Stowed his bag. Waited.
Other students filtered in, chatting and laughing and generally acting like this was any other trip. Maybe for them it was. For Hermes, it felt like walking into a battlefield unarmed.
The elf boarded last. She scanned the shuttle once, her gaze sharp and assessing, then took a seat three rows ahead. Alone. Nobody approached her. Smart, probably.
The shuttle lifted off with barely a tremor. Smooth. Professional. Through the window, Hermes watched the planet fall away, replaced by stars and void and the vast emptiness between. Somewhere out there, The Excalibur's wreckage still drifted. His grave. His former life scattered across space like forgotten debris.
Fifteen years hadn't been long enough to clean it up, apparently.
"First time?" The voice came from beside him. A demon kid—younger, maybe sixteen—with nervous energy radiating off him like heat. "To the academy, I mean. Is this your first time?"
Hermes glanced at him. Rank 4, probably. Maybe Rank 5. Weak Core signature, barely there. "Yeah."
"Me too." The kid stuck out his hand. "Cyrus. Cyrus Vale."
Hermes shook it. The grip was sweaty. "Hermes Selenarch."
"Selenarch?" Cyrus's eyes widened. "Like, the Selenarch family? The military ones?"
Oh. Right. Hermes's—the original Hermes's—family had connections. Minor nobility, technically, though they'd never used the title. His father had served in the demon military for twenty years before retiring.
"That's us," Hermes said neutrally.
"Wow." Cyrus looked impressed. "That's... wow. I'm nobody. I mean, my family's nobody. We run a supply shop on the outer colonies. But I got accepted anyway because my Core awakening scored high enough and—" He stopped, catching himself. "Sorry. I talk too much when I'm nervous."
"It's fine." And it was, actually. Cyrus seemed harmless. Too open, too honest. He'd probably get eaten alive at Genesis, but that wasn't Hermes's problem.
Except Cyrus kept talking. About his family, his home, his dreams of becoming someone important. Hermes half-listened, offering occasional nods, while his mind worked through scenarios and plans. Genesis Academy. The Demon Supremes' hunting ground. Where answers waited.
Where revenge began.
The moon came into view slowly, then all at once. It was smaller than the capital planet but still massive by any reasonable standard—a silver sphere hanging against the void, covered in structures that glowed like circuit patterns. The academy itself dominated the southern hemisphere: a sprawling complex of buildings and training grounds and defensive arrays that could probably hold off an invasion fleet.
Probably. Alexander had never tested it.
"Look at that," Cyrus breathed. "That's where we're going. That's Genesis Academy."
The shuttle descended through the atmosphere, angling toward a landing platform near the academy's main entrance. Other shuttles were arriving too—dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Students from across demon space, all converging on one place.
Hermes felt his Core pulse. Black lightning flickered beneath his skin, invisible but present. Waiting.
The shuttle touched down.
"Welcome to Genesis Academy," the pilot announced over the intercom. "Please proceed to the main hall for orientation. Leave your belongings—they'll be delivered to your assigned quarters."
The students filed out. Hermes went with them, carried by the crowd, feeling very much like he was walking into the mouth of something hungry. The air here tasted different. Thinner, maybe. Sharper. It made his skin prickle.
The main hall was enormous. Cathedral-sized, with vaulted ceilings and walls covered in battle honors and memorial plaques. Thousands of students filled the space, arranged in loose clusters by arrival time. Hermes stuck to the edges, observing.
More elves than he'd expected. A handful of dwarfs. Even a few demihumans, though they looked uncomfortable surrounded by so many demons. Politics, probably. Faction tensions ran deep, even here.
The elf from the shuttle stood nearby. Alone still. She was watching the crowd with that same assessing gaze, and Hermes had the distinct impression she was counting exits.
Smart girl.
A gong sounded. Deep. Resonant. It vibrated through Hermes's chest, made his Core respond with an uncomfortable pulse. Everyone went quiet.
A figure appeared on the raised platform at the hall's far end. Tall, draped in black robes that seemed to absorb light. Horns like twisted obsidian. Eyes that glowed white—not amber, not red. White.
Rank 0.
Hermes knew it immediately. Felt it in his bones. Power like that couldn't be hidden, couldn't be faked. It pressed against the room like a physical weight.
"Welcome," the figure said. Her voice carried without effort, filling every corner of the hall. "I am Headmaster Velora. For the next four years, Genesis Academy will be your home, your trial, and your forge. You will be tested. Broken. Rebuilt stronger. Those who survive will become the next generation of leaders, warriors, and legends."
She paused. Let the words sink in.
"Power determines your path here. Your Core rank, your skills, your will to succeed—these define you. The weak serve the strong. The strong serve the Supremes. This is the natural order."
Hermes's hands clenched. Natural order. Right.
"Tomorrow, you will be evaluated," Velora continued. "Ranked. Assigned to your initial tier. Do not disappoint me." Her white eyes swept across the crowd, and for one terrible moment, Hermes felt her gaze land on him. Really look at him. "Do not waste this opportunity."
Then she was gone. Disappeared like smoke.
The hall erupted into nervous chatter.
Cyrus turned to Hermes, face pale. "Did you feel that? Her power? That was—"
"Rank 0," Hermes finished quietly.
"Yeah." Cyrus swallowed hard. "I've never... I mean, I've heard stories, but..."
Hermes had felt it before. Faced it. Died to it.
Never again.
"Come on," he said, pulling Cyrus toward the exit. "Let's find our quarters."
They were assigned to the same dorm building, different floors. Hermes's room was small but functional—bed, desk, window overlooking the training grounds. His bag had already been delivered, sitting on the bed like it had always been there.
He closed the door. Locked it. Sat on the bed and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Genesis Academy. He was here. Really here.
Tomorrow they'd test him. Measure his Core. Try to rank him. And he'd have to lie convincingly enough to fool a Rank 0 headmaster who probably had methods for detecting deception that Alexander had never even heard of.
No pressure.
Hermes laid back, stared at the ceiling, and tried not to think about how many ways this could go wrong.
Outside, the twin suns set over the demon capital, casting long shadows across the academy grounds. Somewhere in the distance, something exploded—a training exercise, probably. Or a fight.
Welcome to Genesis Academy indeed.