At the age of 18, every dhampir can decide when their heart stops, but not all of them can choose their allegiance. Melissa Sault is one of these dhampir, a half-blooded immortal whom attends a secondary school built for students just like her--stud...
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A bedtime story infected me.
In hindsight, that was a terrible name for it. I'd never been told about magic ashes while in my crib. Sleep would have been the last thing on my mind. In a sense, though, Clara was correct.
The idea of it lulled me to sleep and sang louder in my dreams. If anyone asked what I wanted most or where I wished I could be, the answer blared; in the forest with my hands around that leech's neck.
With the power to revisit time, the romantic thing was watching their faces light up when they heard something silly or running with them at full speed to hear their laughter scatter through the treetops. But I brushed that aside in a heartbeat.
I think, for them, I would forego every happy memory to face the one I hated most.
But thoughts like that were foolish when the magick wasn't mine, and though it felt noble it was also ridiculous. Because each time it crossed my mind it laughed at how powerless I was to change anything about what I'd done. And it reminded me each time that I hadn't done anything.
I studied each silver piece on my desk with a bit of resignation. The tether of responsibility to my future, and to my coursework glued me to place with my hands behind my back and my eyes set on the front of the room where Professor Elan sat on his desk with crossed arms. Like me, the other students in class stood at attention. Unlike me, they'd been listening rather than reconsidering failure.
Jungkook, to the far left and a few rows ahead, observed the tools on his desk, black eyes seeming to measure the time it would take for him to reach the first piece and rush to the second. If I peeked at Jimin beside me, I assumed he would be doing the same. On speed trial days, everyone was a breath shorter with their nerves coiled a fraction tighter. Maybe that was because a full three seconds had been shaved from our last major trial.
Rather than ten seconds to reload a crossbow, third level advanced weaponry required seven if we wanted to maintain a good grade in the class. My hands were calloused enough from prior practice, my arms sore from pulling the string back and forth. In my sleep I could lodge my foot into the cocking stirrup and hold it steady.
Regardless, I tuned into Professor Elan's muttering when another figure glided through the door. My heart dropped when I sensed it would be another white cape coming for me, but instead, black swathed his figure from head to toe, his tanned arms swaying at his sides until he crossed them just like Elan's and leaned on my teacher's desk. Like the crossbows spanning the room, the silver chain at his belt rolled off his pants and dangled at the edge of the table.
Namjoon scanned the faces of each student from left to right, faltering only when his gaze landed on mine. He took in a spare glance at my ivory cloak before glazing right over me to the last ones. Part of me was annoyed, but the other part flared up, made me stand a bit straighter.
Elan's Nigerian accent swelled with pride as he clapped his fellow vorvian on the back. "For today's time trial, we are having one of our own as a judge. He knows his way around many, many things that my generation preceded. He will give you tips on how the recent pre-eternals conduct their weaponry."
