The Star's Fallen Child

The worst thing you can be in Craemia is special.

Okay, that's harsh, I’m aware, but it's true one: the more special someone becomes in this country the worse off they’ll be. I was protected, but now that protection is gone. One night of darkness cursing me to an eternity of such.

There's nothing left to shelter me from the Conservatory. See, Dad, my protector, did all he could to conceal the nature of my birth: lied on paperwork, got a woman to say she was my mother, moved across the country a dozen times. Even then, the Conservatory still got their bloodstained hands on me.

If I was anyone else, I would be sent off with another family member, my actual mother, but since she has better things to do than care for her mortal child, no one will take me.

Besides, I’m special. 

Titan-spawn.

It’s the first, of many, nicknames I acquired while settling into the Conservatory. The "school" suffocates: dark gray walls, lumpy beds, meals that taste like sawdust, but that isn’t the worst of it. No, that would be the students who are downright awful. All of them are special like me - a mystical background that borders on miserable. Mystical, magical, absolutely absurd, those are all the words that float through my mind as I meet one student after another. 

There’s the werewolf pack - not all that intimidating, a half Wanaģi girl (now she’s creepy), the two Nephalem named Gabby and Miguel, a Jinn that hid my favorite (and only) sweater last week, and a lot of demigods who look at me with disgust since I’m half-titan rather than god. There’s dozens more students, but I’ve met a fraction of the inmates. Besides, I'd rather run solo when I can.

Someone bumps into my shoulder as I hide away in the library, nearly knocking me into the shelf. “Sorry about that.” 

I scowl at the intruder. The young man towers over me, though that isn’t much of a feat. His crimson eyes seem to glow, and when he smirks - which he always does - you can see the faintest fangs peek out from his dusty, pink lips.

James Olmos: the most obnoxious person I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting - sorry - the worst asema. Technically speaking, the boy’s half, but the vampiric qualities are hard to miss. I learned about asema in my introduction class: a mix between a vampire and witch who removes its skin to go hunting under the cover of night.

I pray to the gods above that James doesn’t do that.

I turn my back once more. He’s not sorry; he’s never once felt remorse. “Whatever, just run along with your friends.” It’s been like this between us since we met a few weeks prior. Tragically, James lives three doors down from me.

“You really know how to hold a grudge, Vesper.” My name sounds like venom on his tongue, like the venom I know comes from those fangs of his. 

I reach for my book again, one on an ancient religion from across the sea. The stories contained there are indispensable to me. I can’t wait a single moment longer to trail my hands over the warped parchment, to let my fingertips glide over the glittering gold of the illuminations. My mother may be Greek, but Dad taught me the stories of his Celtic origins first.

James snatches the book before me and holds it over my head. “Olmos-”

“Come on, estrellito, just tell me why you hate me, and you’ll get it back.” I jump, even though I know it’s not worth the hassle. James conjures up a million different nicknames a minute - and they’ve spread like a plague throughout the Conservatory. “Titan-spawn,” his voice is taunting, declaring a challenge I’ve no plans on taking up.

James buckles before me, clutching his shin. Kicking him was foul play, but I care little about such things. Snatching the book from his hand, I leave the library before the meager free time I have slips away. The Conservatory has all of us on a strict schedule, any moment I have with these stories will be heaven.

The few minutes I have to myself are ripped away from me as knocking echoes through my room. “Vesper Gale. Headmaster Reichel calls for you.” I bite back my scoff.

I had seen Iago Reichel on my first day as well - he had been the one to introduce James and I - and being around him makes my skin crawl. There weren’t any signs of what kind of being he was, if he was even one. I tried not to think of what a normal person would want with us mystics.

The staff member walks me to the headmaster’s office. All the staff dress in the same drab gray trousers and buttoned shirt. I couldn’t tell this one apart from the one that worked the library checkout. A sterile smell stings my nose, the lights increasing in brightness, the ambiance feeling as though I was walking straight into a hospital. Maybe a psych ward would be a better word. This place sure did have a way of breaking your mind into a million pieces.

A door opens for me. I’m ushered in before I could do anything to stop it. The door slams shut behind me: I’m trapped in a room with the headmaster.

“Mx. Gale, it’s a pleasure to finally see you again. Come, sit, please.” I meander towards the plush chair. Royal purple - that should have made me happy, but the sight of the color in this room made me want to retch. Headmaster Reichel smiles at me; it stretches across his lips, looking too tight, like it’s a struggle. “You’ve come here at such a late age, Mx. Gale, I understand that there’s an adjustment period, but since you are older, I would expect that you would realize the importance of your classes.”

I tense in my seat - the velvet itching my skin. “I do.” 

Headmaster Reichel looks down at his desk. He’s still standing, towering above me, “I don’t believe you do. See, in your classes you’re meant to demonstrate your abilities, the ones gifted to you by your mother.” 

I’m astounded he believed that Asteria gifted me with something; well, sad news was forthcoming then. “Asteria hasn’t gifted me anything,” I spit out.

“That isn’t true, now, is it?” The headmaster leans forward, looming. I feel like a toddler under his gaze. He steps back, this time drifting past his desk and coming closer to me. “Mx. Gale, we both know your mother is a powerful, powerful titaness. Perhaps if you tried, some sort of ability would come through during your classes.” Bile rises in my throat, the acid burning. He was acting as though he cared, but icy fear washes down my spine which told me more than I needed to know. 

I take a deep breath, “I will. I’ll make sure to try harder.” 

“Good,” Headmaster Reichel put a hand on my shoulder, confining me to my seat. “Make sure you do that; we wouldn’t want anything more to come of this would we, Mx. Gale?” 

“No, sir.” His grasp left me after what felt like an eternity.

I flee the office like a shot arrow, not wanting to feel his crawling look on me any longer. Something horrible will happen if Asteria doesn't listen to me for once.

I sit in my room and bask in the darkness. These hours are the sole ones that belong to me - every other moment has been stolen by staff or student. 

There’s a single window, it doesn’t open; the Conservatory wouldn’t risk something like that with their precious students, but the blinds can be pulled back so I can see the night sky. It’s crystal clear, the stars shining before me. It was said in the past, cities were smogged filled - that must have been hundreds of years ago. For as long as I’ve lived, and Dad before me, the skies have always been clear.

I hesitate to peer at the constellations. I wish there was some sort of smoke shielding me from their gaze. This would be easier then.

Moonlight dances across my skin as I sigh. “Hey, mom.”

She’s up there somewhere, I can sense it, but she never gives a sign that she hears my pleas. Nineteen years of silence from Asteria. Humiliating. 

I’m meant to be one of the most powerful demigods, or well, demi-titans, to walk the Earth. I’ve nothing to show for it though; I’m clueless to what I’m capable of - if there’s anything unique about me at all.

Dad told me about Asteria growing up: he loved her even when she didn’t love him. She’s the goddess of stars - falling ones, the ones that burn the night sky - and divination. The whole looking into the future thing, what I would give to have that ability. If I could just speak one prophecy, utter some sort of future happening, they’d seem I’m special in the way that matters.

Maybe then they wouldn't threaten me. Maybe then my life would mean something.

They don’t care about the stories Dad told me of his life across the sea. They don’t care that he taught me swordsmanship. They don’t care that everything special about me came from Dad: I like it much better that way. To the Conservatory he was just another stupid human that got played by a titaness.

I hate that titaness for it. The gods always think they can play with mortal lives without repercussion. It doesn't help that they've never faced true punishment for it.

I clasp my hands together, a layer of sweat between them. My hands fold the same way Dad's would when he prayed. If Asteria ever answered him, I wasn’t made aware. “It’s Vesper, you know, your kid.” Perhaps she forgot. It wouldn’t be all that surprising that a mystical being forgot they had a mortal child. Our lives are much shorter compared to theirs: we exist as blips on their long timeline of eternity.

The thought should make me feel better about her silence, but instead it aggravates me further. “I need to show Reichel something. I need him to know I’m worthwhile, because if I don’t…” The words die on my tongue. 

If I’m not seen as useful then my future looks bleak. I don’t need divination to be certain of that.

I open my eyes, not realizing I had squeezed them shut. “I just want some help with this one, it’s the least you can do.” There’s no response to my request, I’m not surprised.

This time though, something is different, something that hasn’t happened since I was a child. Fat tears drip down my cheek. A salty bite dances across my tongue. I want to trample this place to the ground, to feel the concrete smash underneath my fists. I yearn for the window to shatter into a million pieces, to tear the sheets to shreds.

I’m not aware of how long I sit there, sobbing, but a swift knock rips me back to Earth. I turn around, nobody should be out at this hour - it’s against the rules. The knock repeats, so I have no choice but to obey.

The door swings open and I’m greeted with a terrible sight. “What do you want, Olmos?” Out of all the people I would want to see, James is the last.

“I heard you.” 

“Plug your ears then.”

I move to slam the door in his face, but a hand stops me. “Are you alright?” James shouldn’t ask me that sort of question. We aren’t friends, not in the slightest. “You’re not getting out of this, Vesper.” He pushes past me, letting himself into his room as though it belongs to him.

My mouth seals shut.

James does all the talking. “The first few weeks are always the worst.” He locks eyes with me: this is when I’m meant to speak.

I huff. “Easy for you to say, you’ve got a connection to your magicalness. You excel in your classes because of it." I find once I begin to speak, I can't stop. "I’m sure whichever parent of yours is the asema they’re having a grand old time.” I hadn’t expected myself to say so much; my chest heaves. James lets out an uneasy laugh. My expression pinches. “What?”

“You think I have a connection to my parent? The asema has a connection.” James scoffs. “Yeah, there was plenty of time to get to know the old man between all the skin shedding sessions.” He sits on my bed, rather gently, looking far more desolate than the other times I’ve seen him. “I never met my father. I don’t think I’d want to either, not after what he did to my mother.” 

My brain comes up with a million questions, but James and I aren’t close like that. Those questions shouldn’t be asked between strangers. I settle onto the bed, a foot or two away from him. “I’m sorry for assuming.” Strangers still apologize, even if the other deserves to be questioned from time to time.

“You’re new, I’ll give you a pass.” 

Silence sits heavy between us. For the first time I yearn for James to start speaking, to say anything at all. I suck in a breath. “Asteria doesn’t listen to me. Never has.” 

“And they want her to.” He doesn’t need to tell me who “they” are for me to get the message.

I nod.

“Figures.” He pulls his legs to his chest, the high-class stature he has disapates. “I’d run if I could.” 

Talk like this brings punishment. I watched a selkie joke about leaving for the sea and she wasn’t seen for four days. “Then why don’t you?” If anyone could get away with it, James could, the staff like him. 

There’s a sheen in his eye. “Never found the right escape partner. This isn't something I could do on my own.” 

“Guess you’re out of luck then.” 

We both face each other. I’ve been trapped at the Conservatory for a fraction of the time James has: a couple of months compared to years upon years. I’d love to leave too, but I know I’d fail alone. 

“I wish I wasn’t.” He glances at me, face nearly blank.

Somehow, I know what he means. “I do too.”