Teerom waited where Paley had left him, leaning against the wrought-iron fence of Redhill School, tapping his elbow arms crossed. As Paley approached, he looked up.

  Paley was wet. Not the dampness of sweat of the aftermath of a run, but soaked through, his tunic clinging to his ribs, his white hair plastered to his scalp with black roots now showing if one looked hard enough. He smelled of the sea - a sharp briny scent mixed with the metallic tang of something iron-heavy that Paley had scrubbed but failed to fully wash away.

  Teerom pushed off the fence. He didn't look at the heavy satchel darkened by the water. He looked at Paley's eyes.

  They were purple - Paley had reapplied the color - but the life in them had been doused. They were heavy, older than they had been an hour ago. They held a sort of thousand-yard stare.

  "I'm sorry. I forgot to leave this," Paley said with a raspy voice. He hefted the satchel and it landed in Teerom's hands with a muffled clink of coins.

  Teerom held the bag. He looked at the water dripping from Paley's chin onto the dusty cobblestones. He knew - perhaps it was a brother's intuition - that asking where Paley had gone or what he had done would shatter the boy. Paley was holding himself together by surface tension alone, a glass of water a droplet away from spilling.

  "Must have rained where you went, huh?" Teerom joked. He reached out to place a warm, grounding hand on Paley's cold shoulder. "Let's get inside. We're late."

  Paley nodded. "Yeah. Sorry."

  They walked up the path to the school. The building was imposing, a block of red brick and pale stone. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of beeswax and old paper.

  Behind the high oak reception desk sat a familiar old lady, Natasha Yilba. When she saw them approach, her face brightened with crinkles of warmth.

  "Mrs. Yilba," Teerom said with relief in his voice.

  "Teerom." She stood up, her joints popping slightly, and leaned over the desk. Her gaze slid to Paley. She saw the wet clothes, the shaking hands, the way he stood a little too still. He had reapplied Bacha's disguising solution, but there was nothing ethereal to him now. He looked like a drowned kitten.

  "Madella told me you might be coming." She said.

  "We have the fees," Paley blurted out. "For everyone."

  Yilba looked at the sodden bag, then back at Paley. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. But first, we need to get you on the register. We can't have Redhill students wandering around without a name on the ledger, can we?"

  She pulled out a large, leather-bound book and dipped a quill in ink. "I need names and dates of birth. Can you boys manage that?"

  Teerom stepped forward, placing the money on the counter but keeping his body angled to Paley. "I can tell you."

  The dates were etched into his memory, milestones tied to his precious family.

  "I'm not enrolling by the way. I'll tell you Jurie first. She's fifteen. She was born on the 18th of Ulahan, 6643." Yilba wrote it down, the scratch of the quill filling the silence.

  "Adimia. Fourteen-years-old. He was born on the 25th of Anaja 6644."

  "Reben is twelve. 12th of Aulah, 6646."

  "Bacha is ten. 40th of Vanasala, 6648."

  "Rauba is eight. 5th of Iqmus, 6650."

  "And Amasha's six. 1st of Ilehi, 6652."

  Yilba finished the list and looked up, her eyes resting on the white-haired boy. "And you, Paley?"

  Paley froze. He didn't know. He had no memory of a mother, a father, a birthday cake, or a season attached to his arrival in the world. He was a void.

  "He's twelve," Teerom interjected smoothly, saving him and giving him an identity at the same time. "Same year as Reben. We'll celebrate his birthday on the day he came to us."

  Yilba smiled. "A fine day for a birth day. The Season of Witness feels right for you, Paley. A time of new beginnings." She scribbled something down. "Take these forms. Bring everyone back tomorrow morning. The headmaster and the senior tutors will want to interview them for placement."

  She reached across the desk and patted Paley's head. "You're wanted here, Paley. Remember that."

  Paley looked at her. "Thank you," he whispered.

  The cottage was quiet, save for the swish-click of Madella's needle passing through the hem of Paley's new trousers. The fire had burned down to glowing coals, casting long shadows against the walls that seemed to dance.

  Paley sat at the table, staring at his hands. They were clean now, scrubbed raw, but he could feel the ghostly warmth of the slaver's blood.

  "Mother?"

  "Mm?" She didn't look up, focusing on the grey fabric.

  "Is it..." Paley hesitated, his voice catching, but he needed another perspective. "Is it wrong to kill bad people? Who hurt others?"

  Madella's hands stilled. No gasp or scolding came — he was expecting one. She slowly lowered the garment to her lap and looked at him, her expression unreadable in the dim light.

  "That's a heavy question, Paley."

  "I... need to know," he whispered. "If someone is evil... do they deserve to live?"

  Madella looked into the fire, her eyes reflecting the dying embers. "...There is a story," she began softly, "an old fairy tale, about the Devil."

  Paley blinked. "The Demon King?"

  "No," she shook her head. "Something worse. Something that even the King of Demons would fear. They say he is the Nightmare of Nightmares. The Dark of the Dark. A creature so terrifying that when he walks, the light curls up and dies. The world calls him the Enemy of Everything, the destroyer who can swallow the Sun and the Moon and all of the Realms."

  Paley felt a cold shiver walk up his spine. "He sounds... horrible."

  "Does he?" Madella turned to him, and to Paley's shock, a soft, fond, almost admiring smile was on her lips like those smiles reserved for a precious memory.

  "Mother?" Paley asked, confused.

  "Wouldn't the Nightmare of Nightmares be a good dream?" She giggled. "It's nonsensical. The one that demons fear... How could he be anything but a good person?"

  "But he can swallow the moon."

  "Can doesn't mean he will. That's the point..." Her smile became subtler but its warmth increased, "the Devil saved me."

  Paley stared at her. "What? Isn't he a fairy tale?"

  "Maybe. But to me... a long while back...." Her gaze drifted, seeing a past he couldn't imagine, "I was surrounded by monsters in human skin. And he came. He's real. Realer than anything I know. Barely anyone knows the fairy tale of the Devil anymore. But when they did; they called him a monster. Because they feared his power. They paint him in blood and shadow because they can't understand him. But when he found me... he didn't hurt me. He broke my chains."

  She reached out and covered Paley's hand with hers. Her palm was warm, grounding like Teerom's had been earlier that day on his shoulder.

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  "He destroyed those who were hurting me. He was terrifying, yeah. Violent, yeah. But he was right. He was good. He was a force of absolute justice in a world that has forgotten what that word even means." Madella had forgotten she was speaking to a twelve-year-old.

  "So... he was good?"

  "He was needed, I needed him," Madella corrected gently. "And that is the answer to your question, Paley. Life is beautiful. Sacred. All life. We should always try to heal, to fix, to forgive. But when there is no option... when words won't stop the wolf at the throat of the lamb..." She squeezed his hand. "Then you become the sword. But only then. Never for pleasure. Never for gain. Never for yourself. Only to protect."

  She picked up her needle again, her smile lingering.

  "People tell stories to scare children, Paley. They say the Devil is evil, but I know the truth. He's strong. He's kind. He's not the Devil. He's an angel."

  Paley looked down at his hand, enveloped in hers. The fear that she would be disgusted by him that had been eating him alive sine the incident didn't vanish, but it settled.

  "Okay," he whispered.

  "Okay," she echoed. "Now, off to bed. You have an interview tomorrow."

  The next morning, the fog had lifted. The sun was bright, unforgiving, revealing the worn hems of their tunics and the scuffs on their boots, but none of the orphans cared the slightest. They They moved as a vibrant unit of excitement and nerves.

  Teerom had polished their shoes. Madella had braided the girls' hair nicely. Even Adimia had been coerced into a shirt that had buttons.

  They sat on a long wooden bench outside the Headmaster's office, their legs dangling or tapping nervously. One by one, they were called in.

  Jurie went first.

  The room was lined with bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Master Horeb, a man with a beard that resembled a bird's nest, peered at her over spectacles.

  "Jurie, is it?" You're entering late for the Grammar path. Why now?"

  Jurie gripped her skirt, looking down at the floor, then forced herself to look up. "Because I don't know enough," she said, her voice small but firm. "I know how to handle some stuff with money and I know how to help mend a roof. But I don't know why the seasons drift. I don't know why the tide is higher when Lunastra is in the sky instead of Lunisa. I want to know how people do the measurements for wheels and all the wonderful things mathematicians, physicists, and just... scientists have discovered."

  Horeb raised an eyebrow. "Ambition is dangerous for a young woman without means."

  "Ignorance is more dangerous," she countered, then blushed furiously at her own boldness. "And... I want to provide. My family needs stability. I want to get a job where I use my mind."

  Horeb made a note, a small smile touching lips. He wrote: Attitude: Exemplary. Potential: High.

  Adimia marched in.

  He sat in the chair backward, arms crossed over the backrest, grinning at Mistress Vana, the history tutor.

  "So, you want to be a knight," Vana said, reading his form. "The Military Path starts in Year 9. You have some catching up to do in literacy."

  "I read plenty!" Adimia argued. "I've read Tobalaron, the Great Plum Knight cover to cover. Twice."

  "That is a picture book, Adimia. Real knighthood requires logistics, history, and law."

  "Totally," Adimia waved a hand dismissively. "Look, I want to get strong. I want to be the guy who kicks down the door when bad things are happening. I want to free slaves and protect the weak. That's what knights do, right?"

  Mistress Vana's pen hovered over the paper. She looked at the boy's shining, naive eyes. She thought of the knights she knew — men who served lords, who enforced evictions, who looked the other way when the coin was right. She thought of the slave markets in the north that operated under the King's seal.

  "That is... a noble goal, Adimia," she said with a tight voice. She didn't have the heart to pop the bubble. 'Perhaps he should be allowed to dream a little longer'. "But it requires discipline. Can you sit still for an hour to learn strategy?"

  "An hour?" Adimia groaned. "Maybe I can do push-ups while I listen? Keep getting stronger; I can't fall behind Paley."

  Vana sighed, writing: Attitude: Spirited but undisciplined. Requries work.

  Reben sat with perfect posture.

  "You arithmetic is surprisingly advanced for a home-schooled child," Master Horeb noted. "Did you have a tutor?"

  "Yes, sir. My big sister, Jurie. She's taught me a lot. I also count a lot of seeds for the farm we're making."

  "And your goal?"

  "I want to be a knight," Reben said.

  "Like your brother?"

  "Kinda. Adimia wants to be a hero. I want to be a normal knight, to send money home to my mother and my siblings every week so that Paley doesn't have to do everything himself. Being a knight is the most stable job for someone with Strength Magic."

  Horeb blinked. It was the most pragmatic answer he had ever heard, especially from a twelve-year-old. "I see. That is very... grounded."

  Bacha was practically vibrating, perched on the edge of the seat like she was about to launch herself at the interviewing teacher.

  "Alchemy?" The Potions Master asked, looking at her green-stained fingers. "That is a volatile art."

  "Volatile?"

  "Erm... Unpredictable?"

  "Ah! Yeah, you gotta be careful or it'll go boom if you mess it up." Bacha beamed. "But if you do it right, you can make people feel better. Or faster. My Zesty-Rush really wakes you up!"

  "We do not encourage unlicensed experimentation," the Master warned. "Why do you want to learn?"

  "Because Paley is going to fight the Demon Invasion," Bacha blurted out. "And he can't do it alone. He needs potions. He needs boosts. I'm going to be his support!"

  The Master chuckled, shaking his head. "Demon appearances have only been on the decline, child. But it is good to have an imagination."

  Bacha pouted. They didn't believe her. That was fine. She'd show them she was serious by getting to the top of the class.

  Rauba was almost invisible in her chair.

  She stared at the female instructor, Mistress Olea, with large, unblinking crimson eyes.

  "You're very quiet, Rauba," Olea said gently despite protesting against being here (her expertise was Alchemy), "Do you like Magic?"

  Rauba nodded.

  "Could you perhaps show me a small spell?"

  Rauba held out her hand. A small, perfect sphere of fire manifested above her palm. It didn't flicker at all; it spun, stable and dense.

  Olea's eyes widened. Control like that usually took years of meditation. "Who taught you that?"

  "I practice with my brother," Rauba whispered.

  "Extraordinary," Olea murmured, writing rapidly. Intuitive grasp of Magic Theory. Potential prodigy.

  Finally, it was Paley's turn. He walked into the office and sat down, folding his hands in his lap. Despite his worn tunic, he already looked like a student.

  Headmaster Horeb looked him over. He saw the white hair (Bacha's powder was applied thick today), the purple eyes, the refined features.

  "Paley," Horeb said. "You want to enter Year 7. Secondary education. It will be difficult. Are you prepared?"

  "Yes, Headmaster," Paley said. HIs voice was calm, measured. "I am prepared to work as hard as needed."

  "Your family... they are an eclectic bunch," Horeb noted, glancing at the stack of files. "You seem to be the pivot point for many of them. They speak highly of you."

  "They are my strength," Paley said simply.

  "And what is your goal, Paley? Why Redhill?"

  Paley looked past the Headmaster, out the window to the playground where Amasha was chasing a butterfly. He thought of the shed by the sea. He thought of the hunger. He thought of the 'Daemnegs' on the boat and the jade panda around his neck.

  He couldn't tell the Headmaster that he was here to learn how to kill demons. He couldn't say he was here to learn Runecrafting to arm his siblings for the apocalypse.

  Paley met the Headmaster's eyes. His expression was earnest, disciplined, and utterly convincing.

  "I want to understand the nature of magic, sir. I have gifts that I do not fully understand. I want to learn control. I want to become a Mage who can be of use to this city. To help people."

  It was the perfect answer. That of a model student.

  "An excellent goal," Horeb smiled, closing the file without needing to make any notes on Paley. He'd already heard about the boy from a secret recommendation delivered by none other than Hig Reish. "Welcome to Redhill, Paley."

  The sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in strokes of apricot and violet, as the seven of them walked home. The tension of the morning had evaporated, replaced by the giddy relief of success. All of them had been accepted.

  They took up the entire width of the road.

  "That beard was insane." Adimia said, I swear something was moving inside it. Maybe he keeps snacks in there. I should've asked him. I was hungry."

  "I'm so glad you didn't," Jurie said relieved and horrified that it even was a possibility.

  "Yeah, I didn't. But I wanted to. Knight's honor: gotta stay polite."

  "I think the Potions Master hates me," Bacha announced cheerfully, skipping over a crack in the cobblestones. "He said my nails are a 'health hazard'. It's just magic beetle juice."

  "That probably didn't help your case," Reben noted.

  Teerom laughed, a free and easy sound. "You guys are going to be a pain for this school. I love it."

  Paley walked in the middle of the pack. He listened to the banter, the arguments, the laughter weaving around him like a spell of protection to his heart. He looked down at Amasha, who held onto his hand.

  "First year!" Amasha chirped, looking up with wide, adoring eyes. "We're going to school!"

  "Yeah," Paley said, squeezing his small hand gently. "We are."

  He looked at Adimia, flexing his arm and boasting about how he'd rule the playground and stop any bullies. He looked at Jurie, walking with her head held high, already looking the part of a scholar. He looked at Teerom, whose shoulders were lighter than they had been in years.

  This was a real warmth. This family, this fun walk home on a Himal evening. This was the life he fought for. This was... what he killed for.

  And as the cottage chimney came into view, puffing a thin line of white smoke against the twilight sky, signaling that Madella was baking something, Paley finally let out a breath he felt he'd been holding since he woke up on the riverbank.

  He wasn't a monster.

  "Hey, Reben, Paley!" Adimia shouted, running ahead. "Race you to the door! Losers have to..." He couldn't think of a punishment that didn't involve chores, something that Paley already did gladly, "Do whatever the winner wants for a day!"

  "Eh? Why?" Reben groaned but he couldn't risk having Adimia as his master.

  Paley grinned. It was a boy's grin.

  "You're on."

  "No Magic allowed!"

  They took off running, his laughter joining theirs, rising up into the cooling air of the early summer night.