Morning in Novara Prime began with bells.
Not church bells, temple bells. Deep, resonant tones that rolled across the city from hilltop sanctuaries, each peal dedicated to a different god. Zeus. Athena. Thor. Hermes. Apollo. A reminder that the city 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 table eating boiled grain with a wooden spoon. She hummed tunelessly, legs swinging beneath the chair, crumbs dotting her oversized jacket.
"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 the priests hear you, they'll assign you extra gratitude lessons."
Sofia made a face but said no more.
Frankie knelt, adjusted the jacket around Sofia's shoulders, and pressed a 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 were worth danger.
Outside, the streets were already alive.
Merchants lifted stall shutters. Couriers sprinted across rooftops, Hermes-blessed feet leaving streaks of wind behind them. Temple acolytes in white and gold robes walked in orderly lines toward morning prayers. The air smelled of bread, incense, and metal polish.
Novara Prime was beautiful if you didn't look too closely.
If you ignored the hunger in the lower districts.
If you ignored the orphan lines at temple kitchens.
If you ignored the people who vanished after failed blessing trials.
Grecko Academy rose ahead like a palace.
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 stream of students approaching the gates.
Most wore fine clothes. Clean boots. Family crests embroidered on cloaks. A few floated inches above the ground on minor blessings. A few crackled faintly with divine aura barely contained.
Chosen.
Important.
Protected.
Frankie walked among them like scenery.
Inside the courtyard, instructors waited beside a stone basin fed by sacred water from Athena's temple. Every returning student had to place their hand in the basin to reaffirm divine alignment.
Symbolic. Meaningless.
Unless you carried something the gods did not approve of.
Frankie stepped forward with the rest.
One by one, students dipped their hands. The water glowed softly for each. A pleasing blue. A holy acknowledgement.
Frankie's turn came.
She placed her hand in.
The water was cold. Clear. Innocent.
Nothing happened.
No glow. No flicker. No ripple.
A few students behind her shifted uncomfortably. The instructor frowned.
"Again," he said.
Frankie withdrew her hand and dipped it again.
Still nothing.
Murmurs stirred.
The instructor cleared his throat. "Ungifted. Proceed."
Frankie removed her hand and stepped away.
No one knew how close they had come to disaster.
Because beneath her skin, dominion rested like compressed gravity.
Because if even a trace of it touched divine water, the reaction might have been seen. Might have been recorded. Might have called attention she could not survive.
So she had held herself perfectly still. Perfectly quiet. Perfectly human.
And the test passed.
Her first class was scripture.
She sat in her usual seat at the back, among scholarship students and temple orphans. The ones allowed to learn, but never ascend.
Priest Dorian's silver-throated voice carried through the circular chamber.
"Twenty years ago, the angels declared humanity a virus. A blight. An infestation."
Students listened with the same fascination every year. Horror dressed as history.
"The gods answered. 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. Without the gods, we are nothing."
Several gifted students smiled proudly.
Frankie did not.
Because she knew something they didn't.
The gods had saved what was useful.
What could worship.
What could serve.
What could pay.
The rest had been left outside the walls.
Like her.
Until she climbed back in.
Halfway through the lecture, the doors opened quietly.
A new student entered.
Not loudly. Not with flourish. Not seeking attention.
She slipped in, nodded once to Priest Dorian, and took an empty seat near the side.
She was tall, but not imposing. Olive-toned skin. Dark hair braided down her back. Grey eyes that didn't drift or fidget. Her uniform was plain, no family crest. No visible blessing marks.
No divine aura either.
Interesting.
After class ended, students filed out in clusters. Cassian and his friends left first, laughing loudly. The wealthy always exited like a parade.
Frankie waited. Habit. Let attention move elsewhere before she did.
When she finally stood, the new girl was waiting by the doorway.
Not blocking it. Just standing to the side.
"Francesca Rinaldi," the girl said.
Frankie paused. "Yes?"
"I'm Callista Theron. People call me Callie."
Her voice was soft. Controlled. Like someone who had never needed to raise it.
Frankie studied her. No crest. No jewelry. No glow.
"New student?" Frankie asked.
Callie nodded. "Transferred from the eastern district academy."
"That's a long way."
Callie's lips curved faintly. "My god prefers quiet places."
Frankie's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Which god?" she asked.
Callie tilted her head. "Most people haven't heard of him. So I don't usually say."
Frankie understood that instinct immediately.
They walked into the courtyard together.
Around them, gifted students practiced minor displays of power, Hermes-blessed runners streaking across stone, Ares-touched sparring with enhanced strikes, an Athena-marked girl raising a brief shield of light.
Callie watched them without envy. Without pride. Just observation.
"You don't watch like someone impressed," Frankie said.
Callie glanced at her. "Do you?"
Frankie huffed a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. "No."
They crossed beneath the colonnade.
Callie spoke again.
"You're in the auxiliary clearance registry."
Frankie stopped walking.
Callie stopped too.
Frankie's voice stayed calm. "That's not public information."
Callie lifted one shoulder. "My god sees patterns. Threads. He shows me connections."
Frankie narrowed her eyes slightly.
Callie raised her hands in a mild surrender. "I'm not reporting you. If I wanted that, we wouldn't be talking."
Frankie weighed her.
No threat.
No greed.
No superiority.
Just curiosity.
"What about it?" Frankie asked.
Callie's gaze sharpened.
"Your name is on the survivor roll from the north-ridge clearance disaster."
Frankie didn't react outwardly.
Inside, something tightened.
That mission had been official. Bloody. Recorded. Many died. Few returned. And those who returned were quietly watched by temple administrators.
Callie continued.
"Most survivors don't return to class. Some vanish. Some break."
She looked Frankie in the eyes.
"You came back. And you look… steady."
Frankie considered lying.
Instead, she said, "So do you."
Callie smiled slightly. "That's fair."
A bell rang, calling them to the next lesson.
Callie stepped aside.
"I'll see you in combat theory," she said.
Frankie nodded and left.
But as she walked away, she felt Callie's gaze on her back.
Not suspicious.
Interested.
Measured.
Combat theory was louder.
Gifted students demonstrated controlled blessings. Sparks of lightning. Bursts of speed. Short shields of divine force. Competition disguised as education.
Frankie sat on the lowest bench with other ungifted scholarship students. They took notes. Memorized theory they would never practice.
During break, a familiar voice rang out.
"Well, well. Rinaldi."
Cassian Aurelius leaned against a pillar, spinning a coin across his knuckles faster than most eyes could track.
"Still here? I thought the Death Zone would've solved the scholarship problem 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 upward and vanished. A blur of wind. He reappeared behind her, whispering:
"Try not to embarrass yourself this term, gutter girl."
Frankie didn't flinch.
Didn't need to.
Because if she wanted, she could outrun him. Outfight him. Outkill him.
But revealing that would destroy everything.
So she let him walk away feeling superior.
Mask over mask.
Callie sat beside her as the laughter faded.
When the room settled, Callie leaned close enough to whisper.
"You move like someone who has fought for her life."
Frankie looked sideways at her.
Callie's eyes were steady.
Not prying.
Not afraid.
Just seeing.
Frankie said nothing.
But for the first time since she had walked back into Grecko Academy, she didn't feel entirely alone inside these marble walls.
And Callista Theron, servant of a quiet god, smiled, small and knowing like someone who had finally found the thread she'd been searching for.