WARNING: This entire series contains graphic depictions of violence, abuse, discrimination, profanity, child loss, the realities of war, and dark themes. Warnings are not included in every episode, this serves as an overall warning. Viewers are encouraged to take caution and to reach out for help if they are experiencing something they can relate to in this series. Reader discretion is advised.

The day of my branding was the day I turned seven. I pulled on my worn and ragged clothes, frayed and faded from years of use. My reflection in the cracked mirror revealed a girl too thin for her age, with tangled silver curls framing my pale face, and silver colored eyes. 

As I entered the tiny living room, I saw my mother. She sat near the flickering candlelight on the table, her back to me as she carefully arranged a bouquet of wilted roses, a touch of color in our otherwise faded existence.

“Good morning, love,” she said, her voice soft. “These are for you.” She turned to face me, and I was struck by the dark bags under her eyes. She looked as though she had not slept in weeks.

On a normal morning, my mother was a true Celestial beauty with fire-red eyes and auburn curls. Her beauty was like the stories she told me of the original Celestials: how they were overwhelmingly radiant, their skin imbued with a glow, and their features perfectly proportioned. It stood in stark contrast to her current disposition.

“Mom, I’m scared,” I admitted, my voice cracking.

She laid the flowers aside and reached for me, pulling me into her embrace. “I know, my beautiful Nemmi. I know.” I could feel her shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

The morning passed in a blur of dread. The sky was thick with grey clouds, casting an eerie paleness over our small home in the Veil District. The streets lay silent and deserted, and the only sound was the soft rustle of the wind.

My mother and I stepped outside, our hands tightly linked. The air felt heavier as we approached the center of the district, where the branding would take place. I saw three guards approaching. The heavy armor they wore clanked loudly, the sound echoing in the streets.

As we entered the square, the hollow pit in my stomach deepened and I noticed other Mongrels gathering around. It was painfully quiet. 

The silence was abruptly broken by Cyrus, my best friend and betrothed. He was one of the few things that brought color to this grey town– only nine years old but filled with so much courage. 

“Nemmi!” he called, running to my side, his blond curls bouncing with each hurried step. His arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders as he pulled me into a hug.

Before I could embrace him back, the guards marched up to us. Suddenly, the fear I felt mirrored in his blue eyes, turning his confidence into a trembling frown. 

“Step aside," the lead guard said, shoving him off of me. Cyrus stumbled backward and gave the guard a hateful look. “Noemi Vermisial?” he asked, his tone indicating he already knew the answer.

Unable to speak, I swallowed, nodding my head. My left arm was yanked in his direction, and I felt my mothers hand slipping away from my other, as if she couldn’t let go. Her throat let out a choked whimper.

The guards forced me toward the wooden platform. As I stood before my family and the other mongrels who watched, my heart raced in my chest. I could feel their eyes on me, a mix of pity and fear. 

Then, like clockwork, the lead guard’s voice boomed over the small gathering. “Noemi of angelic descent, by order of King Varek, as part of the laws of the Bloodline Charter, you are to be branded as a creature of mixed lineage.”

Some of the gathered Mongrels averted their gaze, unable to witness my humiliation. Others watched, curiosity and fear etched into their expressions. My legs trembled as the reality of the moment pressed down on me and my vision blurred.

“Please don’t let them do this!” Cyrus shouted, his grip pulling at my father’s clothes. The desperation in his voice rang through the courtyard, yet it seemed to fall on deaf ears. My father stood there silently, his silver eyes looking straight ahead, unimpressed at what awaited me.

Sir Seraphiel, Cyrus’s father, grabbed his hand gently, “Cyrus,” he whispered. “There is nothing we can do.” His features that so similarly matched his son were full of regret, and I noticed tears forming in his eyes.

Cyrus’s voice broke, “Please, Dad,” he cried. “Do something!” 

Mother had walked to their side. Her red colored eyes, even more red from her tears, and her normally perfect posture reduced to her half slouched and racking with sobs. Father was of no comfort to her, standing tall with a look of disinterest. Sir Seraphiel noticed his neglect, and decided to reach for her and pull her into a hug. 

“Just put your head into my shoulder. I know how it feels to watch this,” he told her, quietly. “I don’t want to see it again, either.” Her auburn hair fell over her face as she rested her head against him.

Tears welled in my wide eyes as I turned away, the fear threatening to consume me. Memories of past Mongrel brandings flooded my mind.

The brand only took seconds to form. The symbol of angelic descent was a glowing white line, with a crescent moon at the top and an “X” marking the bottom; half-demons were branded in red, with a square at the top and crescent moon on the bottom.

But even though it was only seconds, screams of anguish echoed through the streets, and the images of it seared into our brains. 

My heart was beating hard into my throat, choking me as the guard lifted his thumb to my cheek. I immediately felt the heat and let out a blood curdling scream, with a pitch I never knew I could reach.

“No! HELP ME!” I yelled as his finger traced the symbol for angelic descent into my face. The magical heat was worse than if they had taken a heated rod to my skin. “PLEASE! IT HURTS!” I screamed.

I bit down hard on my tongue and tasted copper filling my mouth. I could smell my own burnt flesh. 

Father watched impassively as the guards finished, his face a mask of indifference. It felt like the pain had lasted a lifetime. Then, with a final thrust, it was over. The guards released their grip, leaving me to crumple to the ground, my tears falling to the dirt beneath me. A soft rain began to fall, temporarily soothing the pain.

“You piece of SHIT!” Cyrus screamed- running up towards the guards. 

Sir Seraphiel immediately grabbed his tiny body, holding him back. “Cy, stop!” he pleaded, continuing to scold him in his ear. Cyrus continued to struggle.

The guard that branded me stopped and glared at him. His brown hair danced menacingly in the wind and his green eyes looked sharp enough to kill. “What did you say to me, you little brat?” he hissed, his mouth twitching.

“Please,” Sir Seraphiel begged. “He’s only a boy–”

One of the other guards jumped up. He was younger, seemingly less experienced than the other two. “Maybe we should teach him a lesson then-” but he stopped. The guard who first spoke was holding out his arm, halting his movement.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he hissed. “Teach your kid some manners– or he’s gonna get it too.”

Sir Seraphiel nodded and pulled Cyrus back towards him, holding him protectively. Fear was evident in his father's eyes as he looked away.

“Noemi of angelic descent,” the guard called out again. “This is to serve as a warning of the pain you will endure if you ever try to use your abilities without direct permission from the King. Do not cross us and you will not have to feel this again.” 

He raised his open palm at me and I knew I was about to feel the wrath of his ability. The ability I have seen used on too many of my people before. In my sudden realization, I desperately tried to crawl away, but it was too late.

My body immediately became tense. It felt as though a thousand knives were being shoved into me at the same time, the burn searing into every part of my body. I let out a scream but I heard nothing. I attempted to look for a way out but I saw nothing. I tried to run but I couldn’t move. My thoughts were of nothing but the pain coursing through my body.

After finally releasing his hold, I felt something dripping out of my ears and my vision was nothing but red. I knew it was blood– I’d seen it before.

When I finally collected myself, the guards were gone. Mother, Sir Seraphiel, and Cyrus were already by my side, trying to help me. Father was nowhere to be found.

Then, it was as if time stood still. I felt my heartbeat, slow but hard, and darkness surrounded the edges of my vision.

I barely heard the three of them talking frantically, asking me to stay with them– promising they would make it all better soon. I saw nothing, but I could feel hands around me; there was warmth—my mother’s embrace.

“Nemmi!” Cyrus knelt beside me, urgency in his voice. “Look at me. Focus!”

The last thing I heard before I passed out was a woman’s voice saying, “Thank the Angels there are no more branding’s this month. I can’t watch another one.”

Thank the Angels, huh? Their stupid offspring are the ones who do this to us all.