Morning in Novara Prime always began with bells.
Not church bells, temple bells. Deep, resonant tones rolling across the city from the hilltop sanctuaries. Each peal dedicated to a god. Zeus. Athena. Thor. Hermes. Apollo. A reminder that Novara Prime existed by divine favour, not human effort.
Frankie heard them through the thin apartment wall as she tightened the strap on her satchel.
Sofia sat at the small wooden table eating boiled grain with a spoon far too big for her hand. She hummed tunelessly, legs swinging beneath the chair.
"You'll be late today?" Sofia asked.
Frankie nodded.
"First day back. They'll parade us through blessing checks again."
Sofia wrinkled her nose. "Stupid."
Frankie smiled.
"Careful. If a priest hears you, you'll get gratitude lessons. You'll have to recite prayers until your tongue falls out."
Sofia made a face but said nothing more.
Frankie knelt, adjusted the oversized winter jacket around Sofia's shoulders, and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
"Stay inside. And if anyone knocks that isn't Luca, you don't open the door."
Sofia saluted with her spoon.
"Yes, commander."
Frankie left before the warmth in her chest softened her expression too much.
Attachments were dangerous.
But some dangers were worth choosing.
Outside, the streets were already alive.
Merchants lifted stall shutters. Couriers sprinted across rooftops. Temple acolytes in white and gold robes walked in neat lines toward morning prayer. The air smelled of fresh bread, incense, and polished metal.
Grecko Academy rose ahead like a palace built to intimidate.
White marble columns. Bronze doors engraved with divine sigils. Statues of gods looming over the entrance, carved so lifelike that newcomers sometimes mistook them for real beings at rest.
Frankie joined the flow of students entering the courtyard.
Most wore fine clothes. Clean boots. Family crests embroidered on their cloaks. A few hovered an inch above the ground on minor blessings. Others crackled faintly with contained lightning or shimmered with divine aura.
Gifted.
Chosen.
Important.
Frankie walked among them like a shadow pretending to be solid.
Inside the courtyard, instructors waited beside a wide stone basin fed by sacred water from Athena's temple.
Every returning student placed their hand in the basin. A symbolic reaffirmation of divine alignment. A meaningless ritual.
Unless you carried something the gods did not approve of.
Frankie stepped forward with the line.
One by one, students dipped their hands. The water glowed softly for each. Blue. Clean. Holy.
Frankie's turn came.
She stepped to the basin.
The water was cold. Clear. Innocent.
She placed her hand in.
Nothing happened.
No glow.
No shimmer.
No ripple.
The instructor frowned.
"Again," he said.
Frankie withdrew her hand and dipped it once more.
Still nothing.
Murmurs stirred behind her.
The instructor cleared his throat, embarrassed rather than suspicious.
"Ungifted," he announced. "Proceed."
Frankie stepped away calmly.
No one knew how close that moment had come to disaster.
Because beneath her skin, over her heart, the demonic mark pulsed faintly. Because if dominion had stirred, if even a breath of it had touched divine water, it might have reacted. Might have glowed. Might have screamed her existence to every priest in the city.
But Frankie had learned control.
She had held still.
Perfectly human.
And the test had passed.
She entered the Academy halls.
Marble floors. Gold inlay. Painted ceilings depicting gods waging war against angels. Lightning spears piercing winged figures. Holy fire burning corrupted skies.
History painted by the victors.
Truth edited for comfort.
Frankie walked beneath it all with her head lowered.
Scripture class came first.
The room was circular, benches rising in tiers. At the center stood Priest Dorian, tall and severe, with a silver tattoo of Zeus's sigil on his throat. A minor blessing that carried his voice effortlessly to every ear.
"Twenty years ago," Dorian intoned, "the angels declared humanity a virus. A blight. An infestation."
Students listened with familiar fascination. Horror wrapped in certainty.
"The gods answered," Dorian continued. "They raised walls. They gifted champions. They gave us power to resist. We survived."
He gestured to a mural of divine warriors standing over angelic corpses.
"Remember this," he said. "Without the gods, we are nothing."
Several gifted students smiled proudly.
Frankie did not.
Because she knew something they didn't.
The gods had not saved everyone.
They had saved what could worship.
What could pay.
What could serve.
The rest had been left outside the walls.
Like her.
Until she climbed back in.
Combat theory followed scripture.
Gifted students demonstrated controlled blessings. Sparks of lightning. Bursts of speed. Brief shields of divine force. They showed off for each other, trading smirks and status like merchants trading coin.
Frankie sat among the ungifted scholarship students on the lowest bench. They took notes. Memorized techniques they would never practice. Prepared for futures as clerks, scribes, temple record-keepers.
Useful. Replaceable. Safe.
During break, a familiar voice rang out.
"Well, well. Rinaldi."
Frankie turned.
Cassian Aurelius.
Son of a merchant prince. Blessed by Hermes. Too fast. Too smug. Too convinced the world belonged to him.
He leaned against a pillar, spinning a coin across his knuckles faster than most eyes could track.
"Still here?" Cassian asked. "I figured the Death Zone would have solved the scholarship issue by now."
A few students snickered.
Frankie met his gaze calmly.
"I'm hard to get rid of."
Cassian's smile sharpened.
"So I've heard."
He flicked the coin into the air and vanished. A blur. A gust of wind. He reappeared behind her, whispering just loud enough to hear.
"Try not to embarrass yourself this term, gutter girl."
Frankie didn't flinch.
She didn't need to.
Because if she wished, she could outrun him. Outfight him. End him before his blessing finished a thought.
But power unseen was power alive.
So she let him walk away feeling superior.
Mask over mask.
Layer over layer.
That was survival inside the walls.
By midday, Frankie's head throbbed from pretending to be small.
She left the Academy at last and stepped into the open air.
The city washed over her. Vendors shouting. Bells ringing. Children laughing. The smell of bread and metal and incense.
She walked home alone.
When she opened the apartment door, Sofia ran to her and wrapped small arms around her waist.
"How was it?" Sofia asked.
Frankie hugged her back.
"The same."
Sofia pulled away and studied her face.
"But you're still here."
Frankie smiled.
"Yes."
That night, after Sofia slept, Frankie stood at the window.
Beyond the walls, the ruins stretched under moonlight. Broken towers. Silent streets. The Death Zone.
Where she did not have to pretend.
Where she did not bow.
Where she did not lie.
Soon, Rafe would call another run.
Soon, Luca would walk beside her.
Soon, she would hunt again.
Inside the walls she was Francesca Rinaldi.
Ungifted. Ordinary. Forgettable.
Outside, she was something else.
Something rising.
And no god had granted it.
No angel could stop it.
Godless.
And ascending.