I am sixteen years old now. For the past five years, Serf Seraphiel has taken Cyrus and I out to train in No Man’s Land as frequently as he could, without us getting caught by Kingsguards. I’ve gotten exceptionally well at using my blood manipulation, decent in hand-to-hand combat, and I still loathe meditating. Kako has also been easier to deal with on most occasions, but during really stressful situations, I still struggle. After all, I am only half the demon he is.

King Varek also cracked down on punishments towards Mongrels more. Recently, there were rumors circulating that we have been more “resistant and rebellious” against the pure ones. It was propaganda. I hadn’t seen anything of the sort, but I had my moments where I wished to become what they thought we were– violent, chaotic, and terrifying.

Maybe, one day, we really will fight back. That’s what Serf Seraphiel trained us so hard for: in case we ever got the chance to.

My rear forcefully impacted the ground. Cyrus and I were sparring, but he managed to sweep his staff under my leg.

“Got you again, Nemmi.” he smirked, holding his hand out to lift me up. Cy was nineteen and much taller now, around six foot. His hair was still a sun-kissed blonde, his eyes an even brighter blue, and the once small, muscular frame he possessed was now massive. He had become an expert in hand-to-hand combat, as he didn’t have a fighting type ability.

His father was watching, trying to remain indifferent, but I could see the pride emanating from his face at seeing his son’s progress. “Do it again,” he said joyfully.

I grabbed Cy’s hand and lifted myself up. “I think I need a break from being humiliated again,” I laughed. 

“I could help you with the strength aspect…” Kako said to me.

Not happening.

“Just putting it out there.” 

“What’s he saying now?” Cy whispered sarcastically. “It’s super obvious when he’s talking to you, I can see it in your weird little demon eye,” he joked, circling his finger in front of my face.

“He wants to help me practice sparring with you,” I tell him.

Cyrus gets a crazy look on his face, cringing backward. “No- absolutely not, uh-uh. Not going to be engaging in any fighting with that thing.”

“I already told him ‘no’,” I replied. “I have to learn to fight on my own.” I bent down to dust myself off– pointlessly, really, because we practically wear rags for clothing. I look over at Serf Seraphiel, “Can we take a short break? I’m starving.”

He nods and stands up. “It’s getting rather dark. We should head inside the cave and warm up a bit with a fire.”

Cy looks over to me, “Are you really hungry or are you just embarrassed that I kicked your ass?” 

I mocked his face, pretending to laugh. 

“Race you there!” I scream, already stepping into a sprint.

He was momentarily taken aback, but realizing I was running, started chasing after me. “Hey, way to play fair! You got a head start!” he calls out.

I beat him to the entrance, flopping hard onto the ground. “Are you embarrassed that I just kicked your ass?” I ask mockingly.

“Y-you literally cheated,” he replied, out of breath.

“Should have had a quicker reaction time.” I grabbed my bag of gear and dug through it, pulling out my canteen of water. I looked around the cave as I sipped, relaxing myself against the wall. 

Over the years; Serf Seraphiel, Cyrus, and I made this place our home away from the district, going back only to show face so as to not be noticed missing. Our names were messily scraped into the cave walls and we even made a hiding spot for some of our gear, tucked inside of the surface. This was our refuge.

“What are you smiling about?” Cy asked, sitting down next to me after he leveled his breathing.

“This place,” I sighed. “I wish more Mongrels knew how peaceful our lives could be if we didn’t fear retaliation.”

Serf Seraphiel stepped inside and got our attention, “I almost forgot, I need to go to the black market for some things. I will be back later, so you two can take the night to rest if you’d prefer.”

Cy and I looked at each other, and then back up at his father, confusion etched into our faces. “Black Market? For what?”

“Just some things– extra sparring equipment… weapons and such…” he trailed off. I squinted at him. “I might be a bit late coming back here, just in case I accidentally get noticed as a Veil District Mongrel.”

I chimed up, “But, that’s super obvious. You have the brand…” Something wasn’t adding up.

“No worries!” he said quickly. “I have a mask to put over my face and I have my cloak. I should go unnoticed-” 

“Alright, be safe,” Cy said, almost too quickly. I looked at him, flabbergasted. “Trust me,” he mouthed.

After Serf Seraphiel gathered his things and stepped off, I turned to Cy. He was sitting there, with the most evil grin that I’ve ever seen plastered on his angelic face.

“We are going to follow him,” he finally tells me.

“Looks like the kid and I agree for once,” Kako says.

“Great!” I smile. “Looks like all three of us have the same idea.”

“All three of us?” Cy asks. “Oh, right,” realization dawned on him. “Your little mind stalker.”

We got up and threw our cloaks on, waiting for Serf Seraphiel to get far enough so he didn’t notice us trailing him. Once we were comfortable with the distance, we stepped off.

Soon, we were making our way through the trees. The sun was almost down now, barely illuminating our path. I hear a loud snapping sound and look down at Cy’s foot, which just made contact with a small branch.

“Noise discipline!” I whispered sharply.

He held his hands up in an apology. 

Not long after, we entered the small town inside of No Man’s Land. We watched Cyrus's father as he passed the market, going straight into a tavern. Hiding our faces behind our collars, we stepped out of hiding and towards a window of the building– peering inside.

There were at least thirty Mongrels in the dimly lit tavern, all standing around in a circle. These Mongrels faces bore no brandings. Serf Seraphiel walked through them as they glared at him, flasks of alcohol in their hands. Some of them started exchanging wary glances and hushed conversations as he moved to the center of the group, still wearing his cloak and mask.

A tall, younger man with a scar on his face spoke up, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, Alden. We’ve been letting you train in our land because we owe you a favor, but that doesn’t mean we trust you or your kind.”

Serf Seraphiel pulled off his hood and mask, revealing his blonde hair and angelic brand. His expression was serious but calm. “I understand your hesitation, Jaycob, but you need to see the bigger picture,” he said. “We are all suffering under Varek–”

“How is that our problem?” Jaycob snapped. “Your people are suffering because they don’t have the guts to leave.”

Serf Seraphiel took a sharp breath, “It will soon become your problem as well. Varek has been training Mongrels to come and infiltrate No Man’s Land. I’ve seen him over the years. He has been taking the children and brainwashing them to do his bidding. We may only have a couple years before they are finally strong enough and he sends them on a mission to take this land from you. If he does that, he will force your people to receive brandings as well.”

The people in the tavern started to become frantic at the news but immediately went silent once they heard someone else speaking up.

He was grizzled– visibly older than Jaycob. As a Mongrel, he must have been hundreds of years old. He spat on the floor, his voice dripping with disdain, “Your people have been beaten into submission. They cower under the ‘Pure Ones’ like whipped dogs. How can we trust them not to turn on us the moment Varek waves his sword?”

He doesn’t know how bad it is for us. They know nothing of the oppression we face.

Serf Seraphiel squares his shoulders, his gaze steady. “I’ve trained some of them– my son and his betrothed. I know I can find others who are just as strong and trustworthy. But, more than that, the Mongrels are desperate. I believe in times of desperation, we can unite under a common enemy.”

It was a woman, next, who spoke up. She crossed her arms and glared at Serf Seraphiel, “Desperation also breeds fear,” she said, eliciting a roar of approval in the room. “When the King's guards come, with their whips and brandings, will you Mongrels stand up and fight with us? Or will they beg for mercy and sell us out to save their skins.” People were slamming their beers into the wooden tables and whistling, making their agreement obvious. 

Serf Seraphiel looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each person as he spoke. “I know the history between our people, the blood spilled, and the trust lost– but the enemy we face now is greater than any grudge. I believe the people in the Veil District now will prove loyal, contrary to those who came before us. Forget what your ancestors told you about our people– we must unite.”

Motivation sparked in me at his words.

The older man speaks up again, “It’s not something our ancestors told us,” he said angrily. “You’re forgetting that us Remnants actually live till our old age out here, Seraphiel- unlike you mongrels. I was there when your kind betrayed mine.” 

Jaycob leaned back in his chair, nodding at what his friend said. He speaks softly now, “And what if you are wrong, Alden? What if your Mongrels do crack under the pressure? What then?” He moves forward again, propping his elbows on his knees. “We can’t afford betrayal. Not now.”

“If they betray you, then take my life,” Serf Seraphiel says, his voice low and resolute. “That’s how much I trust them.”

Silence falls over the room as they all exchange uneasy glances, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“You’re asking for a lot from us,” Jaycob finally says. “But, we will consider it.”

Suddenly, Cyrus and I feel two strong hands on our shoulders and we turn around to meet a massive man face-to-face. “Well, what do we have here?” he snarls. He roughly drags us and pushes us inside the tavern. Everyone turned their eyes to us, and we saw Serf Seraphiel's face turn white. “Sorry to interrupt. I found these two spying in on our meeting. They must be working for Varek.” 

Crap. We got so caught up in the conversation that we forgot to pay attention to our surroundings.

“Those… aren’t spies,” Serf Seraphiel breathes out frustratedly. “That’s my son and his betrothed.” He turned around to Jaycob, “I sincerely apologize. I know this looks bad but we were training at the site and they must have followed me here.”

“These two are the ones you have been training?” the woman says, laughing. “Alden, they’re children!”

“They are strong,” he promised.

“They’ve barely grown into their abilities. What are they going to do for us?” she hissed. “You’re trying to make us give you our best to beat Varek and you give us these two?”

Everyone became visibly angry. “These two are probably some of the most experienced in the Veil!” he snapped back. “None of the other Mongrels on our side have trained as much as they have. Need I remind you, your leader is also young– and strong.” he gestures to Jaycob. This silences everyone.

Cautiously, the woman walks over to Cyrus and I, motioning for their guard to let us go. “What is your ability?” she asks Cyrus.

“I’m a healer,” he says, looking down on her. “A great one too. Had a lot of practice on this one,” he pointed to me.

“Valuable,” she says. Then, looking in my eyes, “And, what is your ability, child?”

I look to Serf Seraphiel as he gives me an approving nod to tell her. “Blood manipulation,” I cautiously responded. Whispers circulate the tavern and Jaycob immediately sits up in interest.

Her eyes light up in shock. “That’s rare,” she breathes out.

“Is it?” I scratch my head, nervously. “My father had it too.”

“We only have one blood manipulator in No Man’s Land and he is in this room,” she said, pointing to Jaycob. “You’re looking at him.”

Now that I really noticed him, some of his features were similar to mine. His hair was almost white, his eyes were silver, but his skin was ebony. It was a striking contrast. He also appeared to be in his mid twenties, barely older than Cyrus.

As I was staring at him, he stood up and strutted over to me, bringing his face down to mine with his arms crossed. “What is your name?” he asks me plainly.

“Noemi Seraphiel,” I say.

“Ah, but you are not a Seraphiel, yet,” Jaycob replies. I noticed a small smirk on his face as he glanced at Cyrus. “What is your father’s surname?”

Cy's jaw tightens.

“Vermisial," I reply.

“Well, Noemi Vermisial,” he says with a mischievous grin. “I don’t know of anybody in history who had blood manipulation with two different colored eyes. However fitting the color red is to our ability, we all have had silver. Fire demons have red eyes.” He turns to Serf Seraphiel. “Alden, if you want us to trust you, you must give us something in return– in case your kind turn on us. As much as I appreciate you throwing your life on the line, it doesn’t mean much.”

Jaycob looks at me again with a glint in his eyes, “But I think I’m looking at the answer I want. She's important, no?"

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