The day I was branded was the day I turned seven. It looked like any other day in the empire. I woke up that morning and put on my usual, dirty garments. Mother tried to brush through my silver, tangled curls carefully, to avoid pulling my scalp.

“It’s going to be such a hard day for you,” she had said through tears. “I don't want to make it any worse. I promise I- I-” she started sobbing, “I will make tomorrow as beautiful a day as possible.”

I tried my best to not show her, but I was scared. Quickly turning around, I hugged her tightly and cried with her, “What am I supposed to do?”

She pet the back of my head. “There isn’t anything you can do, dearest. Just remember, it’ll be over eventually. The pain won’t last forever.” She kissed my forehead, her lips quivering against my skin.

The sun shone weakly through a gray sky and a cold wind blew through the narrow streets of the Veil District. The houses in this impoverished community were decrepit, with crumbling walls, leaky roofs, and lacking basic amenities, making them far below acceptable living conditions. The homes were arranged in a square formation around a central courtyard, where the ground was a neglected mix of deteriorating stone and patches of dirt, reflecting the overall state of disrepair.

Three guards walked in the main quarter’s courtyard, their armor clanking, but their faces weren't hidden behind their helmets. No, on these guards' faces were the brands of angelic descent– a clear sign of being King Varek’s personal guards. They were a regular sight in the Veil District, as they were the only ones able to enforce the punishments that come with a magical brand. It was a disgusting job they gained, in exchange for the King's promise to them and their families for riches and safety.

This time, though– this time, they came for me.

My father stood silently as the guards approached our small, decomposing home. He had been expecting them. I could see it the way he stood there, stiff and unyielding, his arms crossed, and his hands balled tightly into fists. His silver eyes were looking straight ahead, unimpressed at what awaited me. He didn’t even look in my direction as two of the guards drug me outside to the center of the courtyard, the third guard reading off of a scroll, for everyone to see and hear. It was customary for other Mongrels to be forced to watch all brandings, to remind them of who they were… nothing.

Mother was by the door. Her red colored eyes, even more red from her tears, and her normally perfect posture reduced to her half slouched and racking with sobs.

My heart was beating hard into my throat, choking me as the threat grew closer. It was quickening, more and more, with every step they took. In my shock, all I could see were their depraved faces, sneering down at me. I started violently thrashing my entire body and screaming, willing them to let me go– but their grip only grew stronger. I felt my heartbeat, erratically pulsating in my arms from the constriction. 

“Noemi Vermisial of Angelic descent,” the guard read, his voice echoing through the main quarter. “By order of King Varek, you are to be branded as a creature of mixed lineage, to serve as a reminder of your place in this world.”

“Please, please don’t let them do this to her, Serf Vermisial!” ten-year-old Cyrus yells, begging my father. His blonde curls were bouncing as he tugged at my father’s arm, tears pouring down his soft, child-like features.

Cyrus is of angelic descent, and was betrothed to me when he was four. Though the idea of marriage made us wrinkle our noses in disgust, we were inseparable. As my best friend, we leaned on each other for everything.

Serf 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 his blue eyes filled with heartache.

Cyrus’s voice breaks, “Please, Dad, do something!” 

Mother sobs harder now. Father was of no comfort to her, still standing the same as before. Serf Seraphiel noticed, 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 red hair fell over her face as she rested her head against him.

I panicked even more. My silver bangs stuck to my face from the sweat, my gray eyes were wide, and my body was shivering uncontrollably. Cyrus stared at me, his blue eyes wide and teary, and his father forced him to look away. I suddenly felt one of the guards putting me in a headlock, to keep my face from moving. 

I had seen other children my age getting branded before and it was terrifying. Their screams played through my mind while the blonde guard lifted his glowing thumb to my cheek. As it neared, I immediately felt the heat and let out a blood curdling scream, with a pitch I never knew I could reach.

“No! Please Stop!” I yelled. It was too late. His finger was already tracing the symbol for angelic descent into my face. The magical heat was probably worse than if they had taken a heated rod to my skin. I could smell my own burnt flesh. “PLEASE! IT HURTS!” I screamed, biting down hard on my tongue and tasting the copper filling my mouth. 

Father watched impassively as the guards finished, his face a mask of indifference. It felt like the pain had lasted a lifetime. Finally, they released their hold on me and weakly, I fell to the floor. I slowly raised my eyes to see the back of my fathers silver hair as he walked back into the house, without a word.

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

His father immediately grabs his tiny body, holding him back. “Cy, stop!” he pleaded, then continued to scold him in his ear.

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,” Serf Seraphiel begged. “He’s only a boy– he didn’t realize what he was doing.”

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.”

Serf Seraphiel nodded and pulled Cyrus back towards him, holding him protectively. Tears threatened his father's eyes as he looked away.

The other Mongrels had already stopped and crowded around the square. I noticed them wincing, probably remembering what it was like when they got their brands. Vaguely glancing around, I see a few pure bloods had also stopped while passing through. They were unafraid to walk through our district, knowing that even though we had our powerful abilities, we were powerless in using them.

“Mongrel trash!” one of the pure ones screamed at me, hatred etched in her older face. “You get what you deserve! Let it be the lesson of your life.”

“I can’t bear to watch this next part,” I heard a Mongrel cry, sobbing into her husband's shoulder. 

Next part? 

Oh, I forgot…

I look at the ground in shock from the pain I just experienced. Unexpectedly, a drop of rain fell next to my hand– then another, and I quickly lifted my left cheek to the sky to try and soothe the burn. 

“Noemi of angelic descent,” the brunette guard calls out again. I shifted my weight to my right arm to look up at him. “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 raises his open palm at me and I know that I am 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 try to crawl away, but it’s too late.

My body immediately becomes tense. It feels as though a thousand knives are being shoved into me at the same time, while simultaneously, my body feels on fire. I let out a scream but I hear nothing. I try to look for a way out but I see nothing. I try to run but I can’t move. My thoughts are of nothing but the sharpness of this magic racking my body.

After what feels like forever, he releases his hold and I collapse, sobbing. I feel something dripping out of my ears and my vision is nothing but red. I know it’s blood– I’d seen it before.

When I can finally collect myself, the guards are already gone. Mother, Serf Seraphiel, and Cyrus are by my side, trying to help me. Father was nowhere to be found.

I barely hear the three of them talking frantically, asking me to stay with them– promising they would make it all better soon. I think Mother was rubbing my back, trying to soothe me.

“Nemmi,” I hear Cy cry, “I’ll never let them hurt you again, I swear. I’m so, so sorry! We are here now.”

The last thing I hear before I pass out is a woman’s voice saying, “Thank the Angels there are no more branding’s today. I can’t watch another one.”

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

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