Grecko Academy looked peaceful from the outside.
White marble gleamed beneath the rising sun. Ivy curled lazily along pillars carved with scenes of divine triumph. Fountains spilled sacred water into wide basins where students dipped their fingers before class, whispering prayers for favour in tests and sparring rings alike. The air smelled of incense, citrus oil, and polished bronze.
A temple built to inspire awe.
A cage built to remind you who owned the world.
Frankie walked through the gates with the morning crowd, her satchel resting against her hip, her cloak plain among silks and embroidered crests. Students floated inches off the ground, blessed by minor gifts. Others left faint trails of wind or sparks with each careless movement.
Chosen children.
Protected children.
Children who had never wondered where their next meal would come from.
Frankie kept her gaze forward and her steps measured. Nothing too slow. Nothing too confident. Just forgettable.
That was the role.
The blessing basin waited in the courtyard.
A marble bowl fed by water carried down from Athena's hill-temple. Every returning student dipped their hand to reaffirm divine alignment. The water glowed softly blue for each gifted soul. A visible reminder of hierarchy.
Frankie joined the line.
Ahead of her, Cassian Aurelius dipped his hand. The water flared bright silver-blue, light spilling up his wrist like liquid lightning. Students whispered admiration.
Then it was Frankie's turn.
She stepped forward.
Placed her hand in the cold water.
Held herself perfectly still.
No ripple.
No glow.
No reaction.
The instructor frowned, then waved his hand dismissively.
"Ungifted. Proceed."
Frankie withdrew her hand and walked on.
No one saw how carefully she controlled her breathing.
No one knew how tightly she kept the other power inside her from touching that water.
Because if it had…
Questions would have begun.
Priests would have been called.
Gods might have looked closer.
She would not survive that.
Scripture class was unchanged.
Priest Dorian spoke of angelic wars and divine salvation. Murals of gods slaying winged beings stretched across the walls, painted in gold and white and righteous red.
"Without the gods," Dorian intoned, "humanity would have been erased."
Students nodded, comforted.
Frankie sat at the back with the other scholarship students and temple orphans. The forgotten children. The tolerated ones.
She listened without reacting.
Because she knew something none of them did.
The gods hadn't saved humanity.
They had saved useful humanity.
Halfway through the lesson, the door opened quietly.
A new student entered.
No fanfare. No announcing name. Just a polite nod to Dorian before she moved to an empty seat.
Tall. Still. Composed.
Dark braided hair. Grey eyes that didn't wander. No jewellery. No crest. No glowing mark of blessing.
Callista Theron.
Frankie noticed her because Callie did not try to be noticed.
When class ended, students filed out in clusters.
The wealthy first.
The gifted next.
The ungifted last.
Frankie waited, as always, until the hallway cleared.
When she finally stood, Callie was waiting near the doorway.
Not blocking. Not looming.
Just there.
"Francesca Rinaldi," Callie said.
Frankie paused. "Yes?"
"I'm Callista. Callie."
Her voice was quiet, even. Not timid. Simply controlled.
Frankie studied her. "New student."
Callie nodded. "Transferred."
"That's rare."
"My god prefers quiet places."
Frankie's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Which god?"
Callie smiled faintly. "One who does not seek worship."
Frankie understood that immediately.
Some truths were better left unnamed.
They walked into the courtyard together.
Gifted students practiced controlled blessings. Lightning cracked harmlessly into stone dummies. Shields of light shimmered and vanished. Bursts of speed left trails in the air.
Callie watched without envy.
Frankie noticed.
"You're not impressed," Frankie said.
Callie glanced at her. "Are you?"
Frankie huffed a quiet breath. "No."
They crossed beneath the shaded colonnade.
Callie spoke again.
"You're listed in the auxiliary clearance registry."
Frankie stopped walking.
Callie stopped too.
Frankie's voice remained calm. "That registry is restricted."
Callie lifted one shoulder. "My god sees threads. Connections."
Frankie weighed her.
No threat.
No arrogance.
No fear.
Just curiosity.
"What about it?" Frankie asked.
Callie's eyes sharpened.
"You were on the north-ridge clearance mission. The one that failed."
Frankie felt the memory press against her ribs. Dust. Screams. Blood. The amulet in the ruin.
She didn't show it.
Callie continued.
"Most survivors never return to class. Some vanish. Some break."
Callie looked at her directly.
"You didn't."
Frankie considered lying.
Instead, she said, "Neither did you."
Callie smiled slightly. "That's fair."
The bell rang for combat theory.
Callie stepped aside.
"I'll see you there."
Frankie nodded and walked on.
She felt Callie's gaze follow her.
Not suspicion.
Recognition.
Combat theory was louder. Cruder.
Gifted students practiced displays of divine power like peacocks fanning their feathers. Teachers encouraged competition. Hierarchy was built here as surely as in temples.
Frankie sat in the lowest row with the other ungifted.
Theory only. Observation only. Participation never.
Then a familiar voice rang out.
"Well, well. Rinaldi."
Cassian Aurelius leaned against a marble pillar, flipping a coin across his knuckles faster than human sight.
"Still here? I thought the Death Zone would've solved the scholarship problem."
Laughter rippled.
Frankie didn't look away.
Cassian stepped closer.
"You're one of the clearance survivors. So tell me when the monsters came… did you scream?"
Frankie stopped writing.
Turned her head just enough to meet his eyes.
"No."
One word.
No fear.
Cassian's smile faltered.
Just slightly.
Then Callie stepped forward.
"Cassian," she said.
He looked at her with irritation.
"This doesn't concern you."
"It concerns me when you waste class time showing insecurity."
A few students sucked in breath.
Cassian narrowed his eyes, but something about Callie made him hesitate. Her stillness. Her quiet certainty.
He flicked his coin into the air and vanished in a gust of wind, reappearing behind Frankie.
"Try not to embarrass yourself this term, gutter girl."
Then he walked away.
Callie sat beside Frankie.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Callie whispered, "You move like someone who has fought for her life."
Frankie looked sideways.
Callie's eyes were steady.
Not prying.
Not afraid.
Just seeing.
Frankie said nothing.
But she didn't move away either.
Outside the gates later, Luca waited.
Leaning against the stone wall. Spear beside him. Watching the crowd like a wolf at the edge of a herd.
"You're late," he said.
"Cassian," Frankie replied.
They walked home through the lower streets. Vendors shouted. Priests collected offerings. Children played in alleyways.
Life inside the walls continued, blind to what stirred outside them.
At a side street, Luca spoke.
"Rafe called another run. Tomorrow night."
Frankie nodded.
"Marco's coming."
Frankie exhaled softly. "He never learns."
Luca smiled. "Neither do you."
They walked on.
That night, Sofia spoke of a kitten she wanted to adopt. Frankie listened. Cooked. Smiled. Held her sister's small hands.
Normal life.
A fragile illusion.
Later, when Sofia slept, Frankie stood at the window.
The wall of Novara Prime glowed faintly. Beyond it lay ruins, darkness, truth.
Tomorrow she would bow her head in class.
Tomorrow night she would hunt.
Two lives.
Two masks.
Neither allowed to fall.
Because if either world learned the truth…
Everything ended.
Frankie closed the curtain.
And the godless heart inside her chest beat slow, steady, patient.
The ascent continued.