Zakeri sat hunched in the chair in Rahil’s office, watching Abriel prowl back and forth across the rug like an anxious predator. They’d been taken there when they were found tangled in the grass outside of the school building, Abriel’s hands wrapped tightly around Zakeri’s already bruised neck, shouting nonsense about the silverette. Since purely physical attacks weren’t allowed, since those generally weren’t lethal, the pair had been dragged to Rahil’s office to await his return from his meeting.
The door opened and closed right behind the person who walked in; Abriel’s sword was immediately at that throat, an animal growl rumbling out of him. “What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted in Rahil’s face.
“Stop.”
Abriel felt the cold kiss of metal against the back of his head, felt the sting of the blessed gun. Slowly, he lowered his sword and stepped away, anger burning in his eyes. Only when Rahil had moved to stand behind his desk, running his hands down his suit to correct the wrinkles, did Zakeri lower his gun.
“Bastard,” Abriel hissed, fingers curling into a fist.
Zakeri scoffed at him, rolling his eyes. “Hit me. I dare you,” he challenged, finger tightening on the trigger of his gun.
“Children!” Rahil’s voice was dark, and when both boys instinctively spun, they saw power gathered at the edges of his fingertips, his book of spells in his other hand. “Stop fighting before I put you both under and stick you in the cellar with the beasts to work this out!”
That was enough to shut up both of them, though they gave him matching glares. “Sit,” Rahil commanded, gesturing to the leather chairs in front of his desk. The boys glared at each other before taking their seats, angled away from each other, refusing to look at each other again.
Rahil sighed, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers, wondering what he had done to deserve managing such troublesome boys. “Now, tell me, what this is all about.”
Abriel stood out of his chair, his most threatening glower in place, and asked: “Where the hell do you get off letting a human into the Institute?”
Rahil jerked with surprise, and promptly sat down hard in his chair, looking weak. “How… how did you find out?”
Abriel had expected him to deny it, at least at first; that sudden admittance hadn’t factored into how he saw the argument going, and it shocked him into silence.
“He stabbed me with Aokasai” Zakeri said, touching a hand to his stomach where the sword had painlessly gone through him.
Rahil sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “I warned you about that. His sword was made with a part of his soul-”
“And can’t hurt humans because of it, yes, I know,” Zakeri finished, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking clearly past the pain and the dizziness. It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t made me go to class.”
“Made you go to class? What are you talking about? I told Kissa to keep you in the dorms until your shoulder was completely healed,” Rahil said, raising his head so he could quirk an eyebrow.
Zakeri and Rahil both groaned at the same time. “That damn cat,” Rahil muttered, making Zakeri laugh.
“She likes to meddle; I should have suspected.” Zakeri shook his head ruefully.
Abriel looked back and forth between the silverette and the headmaster, his anger growing with each laugh or shake of their heads, until he was boiling. “Stop acting like nothing is wrong!” he shouted at them, outraged at their pretending everything is okay.
“Nothing is wrong,” Zakeri said calmly, looking up at Abriel with calm amusement.
“Damn you both!” Abriel snarled, “You’re breaking the Institute’s cardinal rule by letting a human in here. He should be dead by now, it’s our right to kill him. My right! But you’re letting him sit in your office and laughing with him like it’s nothing!”
“Well,” Rahil mused, “I couldn’t very well kick him out when he was born to go here.”
Zakeri looked away, familiar lines of anger tightening his face. Abriel looked between them again, seeing the signs of an old conflict there. “What do you mean, he was born to go here?”
Rahil frowned, but it turned into a smile. “You wouldn’t believe how complicated our family tree is, half brother.”
“Don’t call me that!” Abriel said immediately, glancing over at Zakeri; based on his calm expression, he had already known. Still, after all that time trying to keep his parentage from being revealed, it wasn’t in him to be honest.
“Don’t worry,” Rahil said lightly, “Zakeri doesn’t know who my parents are, so he’ll have no idea who yours are, either. Drives him crazy.”
He winked at Zakeri, and the silverette scowled at him. That was just another point of contention between them.
“Okay, okay, fine! Can we get back on track now?” Abriel threw his hands up, exasperated. “What are you talking about, Zakeri was born to go here?”
Rahil took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Just let me do it,” Zakeri sighed, knowing it would take Rahil all day to do it. Rahil nodded gratefully, and Zakeri folded his legs up, sitting indian style in his chair, which he had turned to face Abriel’s empty chair. Gesturing for Abriel to sit down, he put on a stubborn expression that meant he wouldn’t start until the demon sat down. Sighing, Abriel took a seat, curling his legs under him- his hand still ready on the sword that was useless against Zakeri.
Seeming satisfied, Zakeri settled his arms on his legs and leaned back, preparing himself for what could be a very lengthy story- even though he would try to cut it down.
“Rahil used to sleep with my mother,” he began.
“That’s a harsh way to put it,” Rahil protested.
“Shut up! Do you want me to tell this story or not?” Zakeri glared sideways at the demon, even though Rahil could have torn him in half faster than blinking. Rahil’s face flushed a light red, and he nodded again, dropping his eyes. Shaking his head, Zakeri brought his eyes back to Abriel and continued.
“Like I was saying, Rahil was once my mother’s lover, before he was brought to take over the Institute. He won’t tell me why he did it, and I don’t understand it, because he hates this place. The whole principle of it, demons killing other demons, the whole brutal mess- he hates it even now. But, I think that might be part of why he did it.
“You see, from day one, he’s had a plan to tear the system down- a plan he couldn’t carry out by himself, because he needed a human child, one he could mold from birth into a killing machine,” Zakeri’s voice grew bitter there, and despite the second protest from Rahil, didn’t stop speaking, “So he went to my mother, whose husband had just died, and asked her if she would make a great sacrifice for him. She drove three states away from her home and slept with the first handsome man who would have her- I don’t imagine it would be hard, because she was beautiful when she was younger. Once she was sure she was pregnant, she left him behind and went home.
“I was born eight months after she got back. She took care of me for a while, until I could walk and speak. But she couldn’t bear the sight of me for a second; I can’t remember a day when my mother looked at me with anything but hatred in her eyes.”
Abriel’s eyes widened- not from shock, but holding back the tears that threatened. They shouldn’t have come; he hated the silverette for everything he’d done. But there was a part of Zakeri that he could identify with. Because Abriel couldn’t remember, either, a day when his foster parents had loved him, hadn’t been terrified of him because they knew who his parents were and what a danger he could be to the world.
“Are you okay?” Zakeri’s voice broke into Abriel’s thoughts, full of concern.
Abriel shook his head and blinked himself back to awareness. “Fine. Keep talking,” he said brusquely, not wanting the silverette to care about him. Zakeri looked doubtful for a moment, but when Abriel’s gaze hardened, he continued on.
“When I was five, she handed me over to Rahil. He’s been an… interesting parent. Not always the best, but he made me behave and study and learn how to shoot, fence- you name it. I was an outsider, in the world of demons and the world of humans. And after a stupid decision when I was sixteen, I learned to make do, because he told me a story about a boy with no choice.”
Abriel looked up from his hands when he heard Zakeri’s voice soften, and was surprised to find the boy’s eyes wet. He opened his mouth to speak, but Zakeri waved the words away.
“I’m here for a single purpose- to graduate as quickly as possible and take on a teaching position. Once that’s accomplished, I’m to reveal that I’m human.”
“What?” Abriel gasped, outraged. “They’ll just kill you!”
Zakeri shook his head. “You’d be surprised at how many people there are here who sympathize with Rahil’s cause. Miss Kali is one of them- she was arguing with me earlier about how easy I was making it for anybody to tell I was human. Didn’t really help to partner me with you. I’m starting to think she wanted you to know.” Zakeri’s eyebrows drew together, frowning as much as his mouth as he looked over at Rahil. Rahil’s smile was too innocent, and Zakeri thought he might have had a hand in it. But there was no way to find out while Abriel was still there.
“So what you’re telling me is you’re like… Rahil’s secret weapon against the way the Institute is run?” Abriel asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Basically,” Zakeri said lightly. “There’s a lot more to it- the reason why the Institute is run this way, for example, and who’s really behind it. But Rahil hasn’t even told me that, so good luck getting it out of him. Besides, if we stay here any longer we’ll be late to class.”
“Hey!” Abriel yelped as Zakeri got to his feet. “Come on, that’s not fair!”
Zakeri turned, a smile playing about his lips, his hand on the door. “Sweetheart, if life was fair, I wouldn’t be here.”
Abriel’s mouth gaped open- he’d never been called sweetheart, and he couldn’t be sure if the way his heart leapt was normal. Zakeri’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning strange- soft, almost caring. “You know,” he said, cocking his head slightly to the side, his eyes focused on the space just past Abriel, “I do believe your aura is changing. I’m glad.”
With those final words and a mocking grin, Zakeri left the room.
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