Jeromy woke to a gun pressed against his head. Six-eyed creatures surrounded him, each armed. Their six wings shimmered blue, matching the eerie glow of their eyes. Yet Jeromy did not panic. He did not whimper.

  One of the creatures fired. The bullet tore through his skull, and he fell into the mud. Rain poured down, washing away the blood. As he lay there, staring at the sky, a bright light flickered above. It grew, swelling in brilliance and noise—a roar like a furnace, deafening, yet Jeromy remained unafraid.

  The object fell towards him, burning as it descended. It was a spaceship, and it crashed into him. Jeromy died, and his soul descended into Hell.

  At the dinner table in Hell, encircled by walls of flame, he sat with Franka and his demons. Contrary to mortal perceptions, they were not grotesque. They were… decent.

  Franka sat at the head of the table. A single clap brought the servers forward with the dishes. They placed a plate before Jeromy. On it lay Mari’s head. Jeromy felt no disgust, though he had no appetite either. Rising from the table, he turned and walked away.

  “Maselli, where do you think you’re going?” Franka called after him.

  “I’m not Maselli,” Jeromy said.

  He crawled through a tightening tunnel, wriggling as the walls squeezed his ribs. A light appeared at the end, accompanied by voices urging him on. “Almost there,” one said. Through it all, he heard his mother screaming.

  Finally, a giant’s hand pulled him out. Bright lights. Banging noises. Chaos. A chilling breeze swept the room.

  “It’s a boy,” the giant bellowed.

  Mari sat on a bed, panting, sweat glistening on her brow, a crown of leaves upon her head.

  “What is his name?” the giant asked.

  Aron stood beside Mari. The two exchanged a glance, then, in unison, whispered, “Maselli.”

  Jeromy squalled, furious that his parents did not recognise him. Mari gently asked to hold him, to feed him, to comfort him. She radiated warmth, brighter than before, as if the sun itself had taken form.

  His cries faded. His struggles softened. And, he fell asleep.

  Jenne opened his eyes to find himself in the arms of Renna Sorel. Moonlight bounced off her silver linen gown, convincing him this was yet another endless dream. As much as he hated to admit it, Maselli had a point when he embarrassed Hanna for comparing herself to the High Commander. Renna looked like the face behind a magazine, or that pretty actress people watched an entire show for.

  Given an eternity to pick out Schemel’s flaws, you might still end up asking for more time. He supposed yellow was a ridiculous colour for hair, but it suited her Yunnish complexion. Whenever she spoke to him, she looked into his eyes—which was kind of unsettling, especially because her eyes were very green.

  “Having nightmares again?” she asked in English.

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  “Would you like some pancakes?” she added. “And some milk?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Jenne, knowing she wouldn’t stop until he agreed.

  Schemel led him out of his bedroom and into the hallway, ending up in the kitchen where he sat quietly as she gathered ingredients. He liked the way she spoke English; her accent made it sound as if she were always breathless. He secretly mocked her in thought. When she had finished preparing the snack, she sat beside him, watching silently as he ate.

  He couldn’t wait to get back home and share his rhen name: Jonny, Shonny, Sho-nay. He still wasn’t sure how to pronounce it, but it sounded far fancier than Jeromy.

  Once he returned, he would tell his village about the chandeliers in the hall, the shower curtains, and the toilets that always had water to flush. He would tell them about the floors you could sit and eat on and the giant screen televisions. No doubt, he couldn’t wait to recount the terrible pancakes Renna Sorel had made for him.

  “Renna,” said Jenne, finishing his last bite, “may I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” she said.

  “I was wondering… might it be possible for my mum to come visit me? Just once, maybe.”

  “You’re moving to Se Fina soon,” she said. “It’s a restricted area, love. You won’t be allowed any visitors while you’re there. I’m very sorry. If you’d told me sooner that you wanted to see your parents, I might have arranged for them to be brought to the city.”

  She came closer, reaching out to kiss his brow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair. “Do you want some more milk?”

  “Yes, please,” he said.

  Schemel went over to a humming machine by the counter and took out the milk from within it. Too embarrassed to ask what it really was, he called it a “marker-fridge” instead. It looked like a normal fridge but had white triangles on its sides. Where a fridge door should have been, there was a thin layer of pure, translucent ascension—a force field, sort of. Technically, the device wasn’t a fridge at all; it preserved items through time-freezing spells. A steaming cup of hot chocolate placed inside would remain hot until removed, while iced tea stayed icy without melting or getting colder. In short, it was a glorified vacuum flask.

  After pouring him some milk, she returned to the stool, supporting her head with her palm, watching him. After a while, she asked, “Are you happy here?”

  “I am,” he said.

  “Then why do you look so sad?”

  “I never imagined myself at Se Fina of all places, that’s all,” he confessed. “All my life, I’ve been waiting to shove astaphite ore into the war factory. That’s the only thing I know how to do. It’s the only dream I’ve ever had.”

  “Once an earthen, always an earthen,” said Helen, Schemel’s mother, standing with a hand on her hip, smirking. “You can dress the monkey, Schemel, but you know what it still is.”

  Schemel did not take the advice well. Over the next few days, she did the exact opposite. They first visited a barber shop, where Jenne had his hair cut. From there, they headed to a tailor to take measurements for his uniform at Se Fina. The following day, they visited the mall, and wherever they went, shoppers took videos of them.

  She got him a phone—and one for herself as well. His was a sleek black model, with a large purple triangle etched on the back. Later, they stopped for hot chocolate at a café. A technician from the phone shop spent an hour with them, showing them the basics of what a phone could do.

  Then the day to start school arrived. Jenne stood before a mirror in a dark green shirt and black trousers. On the badge over his left chest were three golden letters: VSF. Franka lifted Jenne’s chin and they looked in the mirror together. “You’re going to enjoy your new life without Aron and Mari,” he said. “How quickly you forget.”

  Schemel rushed in, her new phone pressed between ear and shoulder. Ever since her colleagues found out she had a phone, she had been receiving calls nonstop. She made a quick gesture with her hand, urging Jenne to hurry along.

  Dossi led the way to the car waiting in the compound, loading all of Jenne’s bags into the boot.

  “I’ll be right there,” Schemel said to the person on the other end of the line. “Not until I’ve dropped off Jenne first. No—I don’t care if I’m late.”

  On the way, she went into details about operations at Se Fina. She mentioned a few of the tutors he could expect, though he shouldn’t count on seeing them every week, as most had other business elsewhere. All of that was fine, but there was only one thing he truly cared about.

  “How long will my training at Se Fina take?”

  Schemel thought long and hard. “Very good students don’t need more than a year.”

  Her phone rang again. She rolled her eyes at the name on the screen before picking up. It was a brief call, and when she finished, he asked, “What if I fail? Would you kick me out then?”

  “You won’t fail,” she said. “No child of mine is a failure. And you shouldn’t carry that mentality, because you are my Vaela. Do you know what that means?” She was about to explain when another call interrupted her.

  Schemel spoke with a sharp tongue, pointing a finger at the open air as if the person on the other line could see it. “Se sajati rikiv selanov sovai ha sihalata vajuro. So trelohan sahivi! Ru ha sihat, sevi!”

  When the call was done, her mood for conversation had passed. She stayed on her side of the vehicle, and he stayed on his. In the silence of his thoughts, Jenne realised this was his first time inside a proper car. On a seat, not in a bucket. That was pleasant. What was more pleasant was the view out of the window.

  Every aspect of the Home of Heroes brought a kind of serenity that was difficult to explain. It wasn’t his first time seeing crystal streams and rolling hills, but he gushed all the same. Their journey took him through streets he had never seen before. For all the claims of the Home of Heroes having magnificent buildings, he could hardly see any. A few peeked over the horizon, but they were too far away—until they passed a floating house.

  Made entirely of wood and straw, it wasn’t large, with only one floor. It hovered above the ground, a set of planks suspended in the air leading up to its porch. A white-haired girl sat on the deck, her head resting against the railing, bare feet dangling. She inclined her head as their car rolled past.

  “Where is everybody?” Jenne asked. “This is the Home of Heroes, right? Where are all the heroes?”

  Her laugh sounded almost remorseful. “You wouldn’t be here in the first place if we had the numbers, Jenne,” she said. “A fact we Henrikians have to accept: our time of ascender superiority is well and truly over. The few of us that remain are either retired or at war.” She hesitated, as though there was more she wanted to add.

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  “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. “You remind me of someone, who was just as new to all of this as you are.”

  “There is someone else here,” he said. “Are they a foreigner like me?”

  “I’ll introduce you to her in time,” she said. “Don’t let it bother you for now.”

  They arrived at the gates of what would be Jenne’s new home for at least the next year. It was supposed to be Se Fina, but he wasn’t entirely sure. A wooden sign hung above the gates. It read, Vida Se Fina. In English, this translates as ‘to be nurtured’ or ‘brought to be nurtured.’

  A stone path led beneath a canopy of trees, their grey branches heavy with pink leaves. Pink-breasted birds chirped from within them. Rakes scraped the ground, accompanied by the rustle of leaves. As they drove past, the groundskeepers lifted their hands in greeting.

  Several wooden structures stood scattered along the path. For someone so used to seeing buildings as tall, grey monstrosities, he felt these were fragile, as if they might rot away after heavy rainfall. All of it was pleasant to look at, yet nothing signalled that this was the Se Fina. It all felt tame. Not that he was eager to begin his education or anything—he merely wondered how different this place was from, say, a camping trip. It put his mind at ease; nothing here could harm him.

  They parked beside one of the wooden structures. This one had a large front porch. Renna Sorel climbed the short set of stairs and headed toward the entrance. Another woman rushed out to meet her. “Renna, welcome, welcome, welcome,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive so soon.” She wore a long-sleeved white shirt and a leather skirt, her movements brisk.

  “Jenne, come here, please,” said Schemel. “I’d like to introduce you to someone very important.”

  The lady was Miss Class, the Headmistress at Se Fina and the general overseer of three students, including Jenne. She led them into her office, where she went over some details concerning Jenne. Schemel answered every question without hesitation. Finally, Miss Class passed a document to Schemel, which she signed on behalf of Jenne as well.

  “Congratulations,” the Headmistress said. “You are now officially a student at Se Fina. We used to have grand ceremonies for these things, but you’ll have to do with a handshake.”

  “Um, thank you, Miss Class,” he mumbled, shaking her hand.

  “Si melo,” Miss Class murmured to Schemel. She seemed to think he was shy. Perhaps she assumed he wasn’t familiar with Kirisi and had spoken freely in front of him. Maybe he wasn’t entirely familiar with Schemel’s quick pace either, for he had no idea what she said in response. The High Commander tended to speak faster than most at times.

  Schemel’s phone vibrated. Squinting at the screen, she declined the call and handed it to Miss Class. “Could you get a picture of the two of us?” she asked, placing her hands on Jenne’s shoulders.

  They stepped outside, and Schemel spent a few moments choosing the right spot in front of the office to pose. She stood beside him, hands in her coat pockets. One kiss on the nose later, she pulled him into an embrace. “You’ll make me so proud,” she said.

  “How would you know?” he asked.

  “I just do.”

  She received yet another call as she hurried into her car, waving Jenne goodbye one last time before the vehicle turned and drove away.

  “Renna!” called Miss Class, waving a folder after the car. “You forgot your timetable—” She stopped chasing, turning around to see Jenne standing exactly where Renna Sorel had left him. She stared at him for a moment, the folder pressed against her chest. “Renna Sorel has Hyper-Physicals with you on Fridays.”

  “Okay,” said Jenne, unsure what that meant.

  “Right,” said the Headmistress. All around them, the only thing to be seen was Jenne’s luggage sitting on the side of the road. Miss Class carried the rucksack and another travelling bag, the weight making her waddle slightly. Jenne had only a small school bag and his water bottle.

  “Why is your bag so heavy?” she asked. He didn’t know the answer, so he stayed silent.

  They walked down a path, making a slight bend by a lamppost. A building labelled ‘Library’ stood at one end of the walkway.

  “Are you wondering where your mates are?” asked Miss Class. “Once we get you settled, I’ll take you to meet them.”

  He wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?”

  “No,” said Jenne.

  “I’ll take you to Eva. She prepares your breakfast, lunch and supper. Ashey and Hamis spend far too long at the dining hall because of her. I’m worried they’ll grow too fat before any real training begins.”

  A signpost read Villa, pointing to the rounded huts in the middle of the lawns. There were about fifteen of them, each elevated on wooden poles. Branches from the surrounding trees cast shade over the straw roofs. Birds chirped in the canopy above—pink ones, along with a few yellow and blue.

  Miss Class and Jenne climbed the stairs to one of the huts. She set his bags down on the porch and tapped her sides, only to realise she had no pockets. She groaned about forgetting the keys to the front door. Testing her luck, she tried the door—and it opened.

  “We’re lucky your roommates forgot to lock the door,” she said.

  “We share the same room?” asked Jenne. Wasn’t Ashamel a girl?

  “You share the same hut, not the same rooms,” Miss Class said, grunting as she dragged the luggage indoors. “We have more than enough space for everyone. You don’t even have to share bathrooms.”

  The interior looked far more spacious than the outside suggested. The space included a living room, a bar with stools, and a mounted shelf stacked with potions. Portraits of men and women in green shirts—like his own—lined the walls. Each had glowing coloured eyes, and none smiled in their pictures. Maselli would have killed to be here; he would have been drooling over the portraits by now.

  At one end of the room were three separate doors, each with a golden plaque: Ashamel Sorel, Hamis Deus, and the last—Jenne Aster. His name.

  Miss Class led him to his bedroom, showing him the bed and bathroom. She walked over to a small desk, opened a drawer, and took out a notebook and pen. She wrote a series of digits: 003k. “This is your index number,” she said. “You’ll need it whenever you want to use any public service. While you’re a student, we need to monitor your movements.”

  She looked around the room for a moment, as if trying to remember something else. Finding nothing, she clapped once. “I guess it’s time to eat.”

  The canteen was stacked with upturned benches and tables. Ashamel and Hamis were at the far end of the room, sitting behind one table, still eating their breakfast. Jenne didn’t stare in their direction for long. Behind the counter stood Eva, the cook Miss Class had mentioned earlier, wearing an apron and a haircap.

  “Jenne, it’s nice to meet you in person,” she said. “I’m sure our lovely Miss Class has already told you everything there is to know about me.”

  “Not everything,” Miss Class interjected. “She’ll have your meals ready at eight, twelve and five. Whatever you don’t like on the menu, tell her and she’ll make something else. Don’t feel intimidated by anyone, okay?”

  “Yes, Renna—sorry, Miss… Class,” Jenne said.

  “I have to get back to my office. If you need anything, come by and I’ll sort you out. Or you could ask Ashey and Hamis for help.”

  Jenne half expected her to bend over and kiss him on the nose. She did nothing of the sort, leaving him with the people he did not know.

  Eva handed Jenne a tray with a packed meal, a bottle of fresh water, a tissue pack, and another small container with freshly cut fruit. It smelled inviting—pleasant enough to whet his appetite. The only thing left to do was approach his classmates and sit with them. How was he going to do that?

  Ashamel had one foot on the bench while she fidgeted with her phone. The other boy reached over to her plate, grabbed her sandwich, and stuffed it into his mouth. She glanced at him, shook her head, then returned to her phone. Both looked exactly as he had imagined a Sorel and a Deus to look. She had chin-length yellow hair like her mother, while Hamis’ was white. They both seemed around his age. Jenne wondered if his green shirt hung as loosely on him as it did on them.

  Ashamel wasn’t wearing trousers, though. She had on a black pencil skirt and stockings—something akin to what a Wage Mistress might wear.

  One step followed another as he closed in on them. His tray rattled. He bit his tongue. What would he say when he had to introduce himself? The last thing he wanted was a disastrous first impression. Ashamel… or Ashey… how should he address her? She might not like having her name shortened by someone she didn’t know.

  Either way, he had caught her attention. Her green eyes haunted him. Hamis stopped shovelling bread into his mouth and stared at Jenne as well.

  All you have to do is tell them about yourself. They need to know you’re friendly. But what if that made him sound like a narcissist? Someone who could only talk about himself. What if food spat out of his mouth and onto someone’s face? His mother always told him not to talk too much when eating: Greet, sit, eat, and be quiet.

  They looked ready to ask him a lot of questions. Personal questions.

  The time had come. Only three more steps and he would have made contact. One, two, three, he counted. Jenne reached their lunch table—then kept on walking. Past their table, past the one behind, all the way to the far end of the canteen. His nerves frayed. He swallowed back the urge to scream. Could he reverse time? He wanted to go back and erase the horrid thing he’d just done. There was no way he could sit with them now. Quick, find an excuse. None came. His day was ruined. They were going to laugh at him.

  Still, he dared not turn around to see their faces. Both ears strained, waiting for footsteps from his curious mates, but none came to his rescue. With his back to them, Jenne set down his tray and sat. Some time passed before he heard the two leaving. Relief let him breathe enough to start eating. Just as he did, footsteps approached.

  Eva slid onto the bench opposite and took off her cap, revealing a mass of red hair.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked.

  “Why is it red?” Jenne asked. “Your hair, I mean.”

  “Why is yours black?”

  Embarrassed, he dropped his gaze to the table. That was when he noticed something else strange about Eva. She was supposed to be rhen, yet she had digits like his—tattooed across the back of her hand.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “It might surprise you, but a lot of us are new here, too.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “We’re all Henrikians now. That’s what matters.”

  After leaving the cafeteria, Jenne avoided the Villa in case his schoolmates were there. Instead, he wandered across the campus and drifted into the chapel.

  Six marble figurines stood in a line upon the altar, each one as familiar to him as his old name. Father Ken always urged them to pray to Rheina. An earthen’s prayer might take longer to reach Him, Father Ken had said, since they were further from divinity than the rhen. But Jenne still prayed.

  “You don’t listen to me,” he whispered. “I’ve asked you so many times to take away the magic. I know you can hear me, so please—just answer. Take me home. Please.”

  You asked for this.

  The voice was not his own. Was it God speaking? Jenne doubted Rheina would be so blunt.

  You prayed for power; I gave you power.

  “I’ve never wanted power. There must be some kind of mistake.”

  You wanted to be different, Maselli. I have made you different.

  “I’m not—this isn’t Maselli, God, it’s me. Jeromy. Jerry. The little brother. There’s been a mix-up, right? So, you’ll take them away?”

  Maselli.

  He knew that voice. Jenne turned, and there at the top of the chapel’s stairs stood Franka. He lifted a hand, beckoning Jenne, then turned and ascended without waiting.

  “Come on—we’re not there yet,” Franka called, his voice echoing off the stone.

  Jenne followed, step by step, until they emerged in the bell tower. From its window, the whole of the school spread out beneath them: the forest crowding the horizon, the yellow blaze of the morning sun, the streams glinting like glass, and the rolling green hills that made up the Home of Heroes.

  Franka stood by the open window, watching him rather than the view. “You became an ascender when you proved your faith in God,” he said. “You leapt from the window and fell asleep. Now, there is only one way to undo the blessing. You’ll have to jump again—this time to wake.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jenne asked. “I never jumped out of a window. Maselli never jumped out of a window either.”

  “Then how come you know all this?”

  “You’re the one telling me.”

  “Can your imagination tell you something you do not already know?”

  Jenne had no answer.

  “Are you saying that if I jump out of the window, I’ll be back to normal?”

  “Sure,” his dead brother said. “All you have to do is jump.”

  Jenne climbed onto the sill, peering down at what looked like a hundred-metre drop. He closed his eyes. The wind swept past his ears, whispering sweet things. Jump. Jump and you’ll be with Mari again.

  But what if he died? Which was worse—years trapped in a private school, or death itself? It was a cruel choice, but he loved life too much to gamble it. He stepped back.

  Franka waited at the window, arms folded, shaking his head. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “You won’t see the end of the fall.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Maybe staying at Se Fina isn’t too bad.”

  “Jump, Maselli. Unless you never want to see Aron and Mari again.”

  “I’ll see them after I’m done here.”

  “Who told you that? They’re never letting you leave. As far as the High Commander is concerned, you are her most valuable asset. Take it away from them. Show them you’re not just a tool to be passed around. You have a family—and you can still get back to them.”

  Jenne peered down again. The pavement stones gleamed like polished teeth. His head would split on them. Imagine the worst headache in the world—only worse. He flinched back from the window. He wasn’t going to jump. He had more sense than that.

  Franka shoved him.

  The world spun. Air tore at his face. Then stone met skull.

  And Jenne died.