[Third Person’s PoV]

“Then I suppose you aren’t human either… Are you a vampire?” Markus asked, narrowing his eyes. He had finally noticed the subtle red tint in Lucian’s eyes—unnatural and glowing faintly in the dim room. Add that to his pale, porcelain skin and the eerie calm with which he carried himself, and Markus’s instincts screamed that something was off.

Lucian smiled, wide and almost mischievous, revealing two sharp upper fangs. “What do you think?” he replied, voice smooth like silk, laced with amusement.

Markus startled, jerking back against his bed before tumbling off the other side. He scrambled upright, eyes wide with alarm. “You’re not planning on drinking my blood, are you?” he asked, clearly unsettled.

Lucian let out a snort of laughter. “Pfftt, please. I’m not actually a vampire,” he said with a shrug, clearly entertained by Markus’s reaction. “But you’re right about one thing—I’m definitely not human.”

Markus frowned, still wary from the scare. “Then… what are you?” he asked cautiously, watching Lucian as though he might sprout wings or horns next.

Lucian tilted his head and answered smoothly, “I’m a witch.” His voice dropped slightly as his eyes shimmered faintly with magic. Around them, the overhead lights began to flicker in odd, rhythmic pulses as if responding to his presence.

Markus’s eyes darted upward, watching the lights warily. His dreadlocks bounced slightly as he turned his head back to Lucian with growing curiosity. “Cool…” he said slowly, unsure whether he meant it.

Lucian offered a small nod and gestured back at Markus. “And you?”

Markus hesitated. “I don’t really know,” he admitted with a shrug. “I think I might be a fallen angel.”

Lucian blinked. “Wait, I’m sorry—what?” His voice cracked slightly with surprise.

Markus sighed and muttered, “My mother warned me to be careful about it, damn it.”

Running a hand through his dreads in frustration, he exhaled sharply. “Well, I guess you figured it out on your own, so it’s not entirely my fault. Just promise me you won’t freak out, alright?”

Lucian raised an eyebrow, leaning back with his arms crossed. “After the things I’ve seen in this world?” he said dryly. “Trust me—freaking out is the last thing I’d do.”

“If you say so,” Markus muttered under his breath. He reached for the hem of his shirt and began to pull it over his head.

Lucian gave a theatrical gasp. “Oh God, a strip tease,” Lucian quipped with mock horror. “Now I see why you warned me.”

Markus froze mid-motion, shirt halfway up his torso. “That comment was so unnecessary.”

Lucian shrugged, grinning. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Markus finished pulling off his shirt, revealing his torso wrapped in tight bandages. He hesitated for a moment, then began to unwind them slowly.

Lucian dramatically shielded his eyes. “Oh my God, you’ve been hiding the fact you’re actually female and living in the male dormitories? The scandal.”

“You’re seriously making me regret this,” Markus muttered darkly, continuing to undo the bandages.

Lucian zipped his lips with a pantomimed motion and watched silently.

As the last layer of bandage fell away, Markus took a deep breath. “I’ve never shown this to anyone before… but here goes nothing.”

With a flex of his shoulders, two enormous black wings burst forth from his back, unfolding with a rush of air. The feathers seemed to drink in the light—each one perfectly dark, almost ethereal, as if crafted from shadows themselves. They stretched wide, nearly brushing the walls of the room.

Lucian’s jaw slackened. He stared in stunned silence, blinking rapidly. Then he tilted his head slightly, a strange gleam in his eye. “Wait a minute… No way,” he whispered, raising a hand to his lips as a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.

“What?” Markus asked, caught off guard by the reaction.

Lucian suddenly let out a low, rolling laugh, clutching his stomach and hunching forward. “Hahaha—man, what a treat! Seriously, fate must be playing games with me. This is just too perfect.”

Markus’s wings instinctively curled closer to his body, unsure whether to be offended or confused. “Yeah, that… wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. What’s so funny?” he asked, frowning as he narrowed his eyes. The laughter felt like mockery, like Lucian was laughing at him.

Lucian straightened, still chuckling. “I’m sorry—really—I’m not laughing at you,” he said, waving his hands as if to calm him. “I’m laughing at the absurdity of this whole situation. Look, I hate to burst your bubble, but you’re not a fallen angel.”

Markus blinked. “I’m… not?” A whirlwind of emotion flickered across his face—confusion, hope, even a hint of disappointment. “Wait. You know what I am?!”

For a moment, he looked like a child who’d been wandering in the dark and just found the beginning of a path. All his life, he had battled with his identity. He never knew where he belonged, never understood what he was. His mother always called him her “little angel,” so it made sense to believe he was a fallen one. But now—Lucian was telling him there was practically telling him he knew what he was and he seems so sure. Maybe he wasn’t alone anymore like he once thought, maybe there are more of people like him.

Lucian grinned. “What part of me being a witch didn’t click with you? Our biggest strength is knowledge, witches are knowing for knowing things”

“Then…” Markus took a step closer, voice thick with emotion, “what exactly am I? If I’m not a fallen angel, then what am I?”

“You,” Lucian said, his tone softening, “are what’s known as a Daemon. Or, at least, a half-Daemon—half human” Lucian explained.

Markus’ eyes widened in a mix of surprise and confusion. “Daemon…?” he echoed, the unfamiliar word feeling strange and foreign on his tongue. He frowned slightly. “It… it sounds a lot like demon. Am I a demon?” he asked, his voice lowering, heavy with unease.

The idea sat uncomfortably in his chest. The thought of being a demon made his stomach turn. Fallen angel sounded poetic, tragic even—something misunderstood, not malevolent. Demon, though? That felt like something twisted, something wrong. He almost wished he had never asked. He much prefers being a fallen angel than a demon.

Lucian laughed gently, shaking his head. “No. Although Demons could technically be Daemons, not all Daemons are demons,” he explained patiently. “In fact, the word ‘Daemon’ comes from an older term. It’s closer in meaning to ‘spirit’—a powerful spiritual being.”

Relief rushed over Markus like a wave crashing over fire. The fear burning in his chest dulled. He wasn’t a demon. Not truly. Just a spirit—something ancient, mysterious, maybe even noble, not that he knew yet. It wasn’t as good as ‘angel,’ but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

“So… I’m a Daemon,” Markus muttered, the words slipping past his lips almost reverently. He glanced down at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time with new understanding. A smile started to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Half of one,” Lucian corrected with a knowing grin, watching him carefully. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he let Markus savor it—just for a few seconds.

But then his smile turned sly. “Say… how much do you actually know about your father?”

The smile on Markus’ face vanished like smoke. His expression grew dark, his hazel eyes suddenly sharp and cold. Something flickered behind them—a memory, a wound. “Nothing,” he said flatly. “Nothing at all.”

Lucian chuckled under his breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth as if trying to contain something far too amusing. “Alright, alright,” he said, “but here’s a funny little coincidence I think you’ll love. If my hunch is correct—and it usually is—your dad might actually be working for my dad.”

Markus stiffened. His face remained still, unreadable—but his eyes betrayed him. They grew wide with disbelief, then narrowed into slits. Before Lucian could blink, Markus had closed the space between them, grabbed Lucian by the collar, and slammed him against the nearest wall.

Lucian didn’t resist. He let it happen, though his brow lifted slightly in bemusement. “Really?” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Careful now”

“What?” Markus growled through clenched teeth. The look in his eyes was murderous. “You know who my father is? Then speak. Who is he? Where can I find that worthless trash?”

Lucian’s eyes flicked over Markus’s shoulder. He noticed the way the boy’s wings quivered—not with fear, but fury. The feathers seemed to pulse with a life of their own, as if responding to his rage.

“First of all,” Lucian said calmly, reaching up and gripping Markus’ wrist, “don’t do that.”

With unnatural strength, he peeled Markus away as if he weighed nothing.

“Argh—!” Markus groaned, caught off guard by the raw power behind Lucian’s grip. He stumbled slightly and nearly dropped to one knee, now forced to look up at him. Lucian stared down, his red gaze steady and unnerving.

“Don’t ever grab me like that again,” Lucian said coolly. “If you had just asked, I would’ve told you. But I’ll let it slide. I know you’re… emotional right now hearing about your father.”

Markus’s jaw tightened. “Emotional doesn’t even begin to cut it.”

Lucian sighed, releasing him. Markus immediately stepped back, rubbing at his wrist, shame creeping into his face. His eyes lowered, and for a moment, he said nothing.

“…I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

Lucian gave a small nod, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform jacket. “Apology accepted. But next time, try yelling instead of manhandling.”

Markus exhaled, tension still simmering beneath his skin. “Can you… can you tell me who my father is?” he asked, softer now—less a demand, more a plea.

Lucian crossed his arms and looked thoughtful. “I’m not technically allowed to speak names. Names have power—especially old ones. But in this case… I might be safe.” He smirked a little. “Probably.”

“What?” Markus blinked. “What does that mean?”

Lucian looked him straight in the eye. “If I’m right—and I’m almost always right—then your father is none other than Thanatos. The Primordial God of Death.”

Markus went rigid.

His heart stuttered. His thoughts felt like they slammed into a brick wall, then scattered like broken glass.

Thanatos.

God of Death.

His father?

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