The teacher from the Wraith fight—tall, medium?brown skin, close?cropped hair—stepped out from the shade of the gym, a duffel slung over one shoulder. Up close in daylight, I could see more details: a faint scar along his jaw, a watch with a worn leather band, muscles under his Northbridge polo that said he didn’t just talk about conditioning; he did it.

  He dropped the duffel by a cone at the edge of the field and clapped his hands once. The sound cracked across the grass, pulling everyone’s attention.

  “Line up,” he said. His voice was calm, but it carried. “Upperclassmen on the left, first?years on the right.”

  People moved without argument, shuffling into place. Theo gave my shoulder a quick nudge toward the right side, then took his own spot beside me. Sera and Shara flanked us; Artem hovered at the far end next to Hana, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

  The teacher’s gaze swept down the line of older students, then across to us.

  “For those who don’t know me,” he said, “I’m Mr. Okafor. I teach Civics and advanced conditioning. I also run Field Studies and Community Engagement.” His eyes caught mine very briefly. “You saw a bit of that last week.”

  Understatement of the century.

  “This,” he went on, gesturing to the field and the people on it, “is the Saturday program that will define your life. Some of you have been here a year or more.” His hand indicated the upperclassmen. “Some of you are new this term.”

  His gaze settled on me.

  “Diana Sinclair,” he said, for the group’s benefit. “Freshman. Assessment candidate. You’ve all heard enough rumors; this is the person at the center of them. Try to be less dramatic than usual.”

  A ripple of quiet amusement moved through the older students. My ears went hot.

  He moved down the line.

  “You already know Sera and Shara Torres.” The twins gave synchronized little waves. “And Theo Vasilakis.” Theo dipped his head in acknowledgment, grin brightening. “Hana Mori. Artem Diduch.” Artem startled slightly as his name was said, managed a jerky nod.

  Then Mr. Okafor tipped his chin toward the older side.

  “Lillibet Lily,” he said. The green?sword girl didn’t move except for a fractional narrowing of her eyes. “Sophomore. Close?quarters specialist.”

  “Maya Singh. Recon and archery. Luis Castillo. Wrestling and bone smithing. Jamal Carter. Recon and extraction. Rebecca Feldman. Documentation and spin.”

  He didn’t list powers or legacies, just…functions. Roles.

  “Vinh Ang, you all know,” he added. Vinh inclined his head slightly, face unreadable. “Blades and tactics.”

  Mr. Okafor let the list hang there for a moment, letting us all look at each other, weigh each other.

  “This is your cohort,” he said finally. “Different talents, different lines, same purpose. You’re here because you can do something most people can’t—or you will, once you’re trained.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  His gaze came back to me one more time.

  “Today,” he said, “we start by making sure everyone walks off this field in one piece.”

  Mr. Okafor let that hang for a breath, then added, “And because Ms. Sinclair is new to our community, you’ll have to bear with me while I state a few things you all already know.”

  A couple of the upperclassmen smiled faintly. The twins went very still in that attentive way they had.

  “There are beings in this world that most humans do not see,” he said. “You’ve heard them called the Unseen. If you prefer modern slang, Darklings.” His mouth twitched like he had opinions about the word and was choosing not to share them.

  “Most of them fall into two broad groups. First, the ones who are harmful—who hunt humans, feed on them, treat us as resources. Monsters. Boogies. Boogeymen.” His gaze flicked over us, landing on me for half a second. “You’ve all met at least one by now.”

  A few people shifted their weight. I thought of the Wraith’s teeth, the way the world had gone silent under it.

  “Second,” he went on, “the Others. Those who don’t see us as food. Tricksters, yes. Benign, often. Occasionally helpful. The old stories call them by many names. The less polite modern slang is bug?a?boo.” His tone made it clear how he felt about that. “They have their own societies, their own rules. Most of them have no interest in human politics at all.” He paused. “We don’t have time today to go into all of that in detail.”

  He drew a small breath.

  “What I will talk about,” he said, “is a very important subset of the Others. They have a roughly human shape, and all members of a given type share a single gender.”

  “Banshees, Selkies, and Cáo are female,” he said. “Satyrs and Vanara are male.” A couple of the older kids nodded along, like this was review day.

  “They have, over a very long time, had children with humans,” he said, as matter?of?fact as if he were talking about trade routes. “When those children are the same gender as their Other parent, they are members of that race—Banshee, Selkie, Vanara, and so on. When they are not, they are something else.”

  His eyes came back to our side of the line.

  “They are Kindred,” he said. “Humans with Other blood, able to see what is otherwise Unseen.”

  The word sat heavy and familiar at the same time. Kindred. The twins’ bracelets caught the light. Theo’s jaw tightened just a hair.

  “All the descendants of Kindred,” Mr. Okafor said, “carry the gifts. And the responsibility. Because as the only humans who can see the hidden world, it is on us to act as custodians of humanity. To stand between the Unseen and those who will never even know they exist.”

  He said it without drama, but the weight of it nudged at my ribs.

  “We are proud of this heritage,” he went on. “We call ourselves Satyr?kin, or Cáo?kin, Yuki?Onna?kin, Dryad?kin. We claim the line we come from, and the legacy that comes with it.”

  He lifted his hand, indicating the group.

  “As to the gifts,” he said, “some are useful in combat. Some are social. Others are more specialized. Selkie?kin”—he gestured toward the twins—“are born for the water. Exceptional swimmers, breath control, temperature tolerance. They don’t just swim; they live there.”

  Sera and Shara both straightened a little, not quite preening.

  “Satyr?kin”—he nodded toward Theo, then Rebecca by the bleachers—“excel at influence. Persuasion. Reading a room and shifting it.”

  Theo did a little half?bow, mostly for show. Rebecca just lifted two fingers in a tiny salute, camera strap shifting on her shoulder.

  “Naga?kin”—a small motion toward Maya and Jamal—“are fast. Coiled muscle, reflexes, agility. They make excellent runners, scouts, and, when they must, strikers.”

  Maya’s mouth quirked; Jamal stopped stretching just long enough to grin.

  “Vanara?kin”—Luis—“are very difficult to injure. Balance, resilience, impact resistance. They fall out of trees and keep moving.”

  Luis huffed a laugh.

  “Cáo?kin”—Vinh—“like the better known Kitsune-kin, can augment their own bodies. Strength, bursts of speed, heightened focus. Controlled properly, they are anchors on a field.”

  Vinh inclined his head, expression as neat and contained as his stance.

  “That leaves us with Banshee?kin,” Mr. Okafor said. “Their ability is…a bit harder to explain with words.”

  His gaze slid to the center of the field.

  “It is best demonstrated. Ms. Lily. Mr. Ang. If you don’t mind?”