[???? Lyin' Eyes – Eagles.]
"YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS ABOUT?" Israfel asked of Aya Naamah the following morning when they were seated in the gilded halls of Magdalena, the Corynthian Academy's assembly room.
"No, m'lord. But I shall ask."
Rafel sat back on his upholstered maroon seat in his signet blazer for the Blood Faction. The pupils of the mage institute were interspersed in the rows of seats, arranged not according to Arc colors but friendship zones and clics.
The weird river bunch cornered themselves at the far end of the hall, and the Pynks: Erika and her socialite clan of [Gyaru] queens ruled from the very first row of the assembly line.
Rafel looked around a moment before his eyes came to rest on Aya again. She had drawn in the attention of a doe-eyed girl closest to them on their row. And was asking amicably if she knew the reason for the sudden clarion call this morning. It wasn't too hard for Aya to get the girl's mouth rattling, considering her overall allure.
Rafel didn't listen in and rather looked across his own middle column to the distant left where Ravenna sat with a bunch of other [Second Year Casters] like her.
She caught his gaze and sent a little wave. He was just a year older—by human standards—but the college wasn't biased to age gaps. If you were a [Druid Novice] at nineteen and your mate was a [Master Witch] at sixteen, that was it. The academy taught its supernatural pupils to strive to level up.
By the fourth year within the institute's gothic walls, many of the graduant class were already [Solo Hitachi Spellcasters] and [Golden Age Summoners].
The valedictorian usually attained meister or grand status. A [Supreme Magus], or [Magess Suprema] as in the case of the distinguished woman had to be earned in the outside world; successful graduants were sent out to faraway reaches of the continent to prove themselves in cities of the nine realms as worthy of the runes of Corynthia.
One astounding attribute of the institute was that it did not segregate or racialize species. All magical folk were allowed beyond the dark wytch gates. All systems. Those with uncultivated Marine System. Infernal, or Celestial System. Shadow System.
[Wildforce] System, and Sanguine System as in the case of werewolves and vampires respectively. And with the situation of things at the former Capitol, Titans Landing, who didn't desire a liberal state?
It was either pseudo-independent Rocasus, or sovereign Corynthia.
Rafel blinked and waved back to Ravenna. He would never regret the decision he made to send her here one year ago. Thank Lucifer she had now manifested. An Angelic System! How glorious!
As for the part about her being the only Being in existence to be able to 'redeem' lost souls to heaven, Rafel knew he'd take that secret to his immortal lava grave.
Fuck the Fallen!
"M'lord?"
Rafel turned at the small voice. Beautiful, saintly Ravenna and her cloud of conversing sophomores fell to the periphery as Rafel looked upon Aya again. She had finished talking with the girl.
"You know you don't need to call me Lord every time we talk." He told her.
Her succulent red body still haunted his cock.
He suspected Salome had done the same with Shredder. But fuck, he was a demon. She was not. Dragons and Hellions had similar [Helflame] coursing through their insides. But not mortals, no matter how supercharged by magic.
'No time to mourn now, m'lord.' Aya whispered in his head through their mind link. And Rafel agreed with her. He focused on what the headmistress was saying:
". . .we have lost three dragons of the isles, one of them the largest this side of the continent. Coronis was six hundred years old and had seen the reign of eight Faerie Kings. She had more wisdom in her head than our Athenaeum. And more magic in her blue scales than a wishing well.
In that effect, dragon eggs shall hence be breeded in the eastern mountains beyond Dragongate.
You are all advised to keep far from the area. The Spring Games is thus halted—"
"Awww!!!" The voices of the students in the hall went up like a mournful song.
Nicara raised her voice. "The school board and I have decided. Yes, we have. Losing a student, no matter her rule-breaking is still losing a student. Salome's family wishes a pyre on our grounds to send her into the Martyr's Hall of Valor. This institute shall humbly honor their request.
The Spring Games will commence again next Sabbath with a round of swimming. . .with alligators."
"FUCK YES!" The students cheered instantly.
Nicara was briefly struck by their latitude toward a fellow students life. Only those wearing black in the assembly hall: Ravens, had sorry expressions. Nicara pounded her palm on the podium.
"ALL LIVES MATTER, my young witches. ALL LIVES MATTER! To ease our minds from this tragedy, the school shall be hosting a Talent Hunt night in which our very own Corynthia Swing Band shall perform and Drama Club serenade us to a ravishing display of the legend of Oedipus. A play to crest the occasion. Sign up boards have been thumbtacked to the notice boards. Please sign up, students."
A student raised a hand.
"Yes?" Nicara offered.
"Oedipus? That's the lad who shagged his mum, innit?"
___
". . .THAT'S THE LAD WHO SHAGGED HIS MUM, INNIT?"
Everyone in the assembly hall burst into laughter. Quite a frankness there from the kid.
"Yes. That's him." Nicara sighed and tried for silence, but the room quaked a while. Nothing like taboo fucking to rouse a rabble of teens. "Very well," she went on when the snickering noised down, "the mother you speak of was named Jocasta. And she in fact killed herself when the scandal came out.
I will confer with Miss Burgess, your Student President on these two options. It's either Oedipus's correctional tale or the tragic romance of Orpheus and Eurydice. Your pick?" The Headmistress raised fine reddish eyebrows, knowing her students would pick taboo over romance any day.