Disclamer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of J.K.Rowlings work, storylines, etc.

Chapter 2: Strange Relations

Dinner that night was delicious, and filling, as usual - but a disappointment nonetheless. The only three people that didn't appear were the very three I was hoping to see: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I am sitting at the table reserved for the faculty, lost in contemplation.

"Something wrong, Beriath?" Hagrid grumbles in my ear, in what is obviously a failed attempt at a whisper.

"Nothing that can easily be explained, Hagrid. Forces that I like not are growing in strength. Soon the deluge will come."

"Oh? Well, with you-know-who being resurrected and all, I can't say I'm surprised. All we can do now is be prepared."

"Indeed. But it isn't Voldemort that's bothering me. As soon as he does anything against any I have sworn protection to, prophecy or no, I will destroy him. What worries me is the fact that I may be too late."

"What d'you mean?"

"You haven't noticed? Where are Harry, Hermione, and Ron?"

"Oh, them? They're in their dorm... seemed real depressed, they did. I wonder what got to them?"

"Hmmm. That may just be the sign I was looking for."

"Eh?"

"Depression, if used properly, is one of the more powerful weapons demons can call upon. If it is Voldemort that is the cause of their depression, then that could be taken as an attack, which means that I can kill him. Once he attacks, he'll no longer be invisible to me."

"I still don't understand."

"Ah. I guess Dumbledore hasn't said much about exactly how he resurrected. Suffice to say that he bonded with an exceptionally powerful demon. The demon blood that now runs through his veins, effectively makes him invisible to me. That is... until he does something stupid."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I think that I will excuse myself now and go check on Harry, Ron, and Hermione."

"He's gone... He's really gone." Ron mutters to no one in particular. While he is the only one to voice it, Harry has obviously come to the same conclusion. Neither of them seem to be willing to look up from the plush carpet. Which may be why they do not notice the figure crawling through the portal that the portrait of the fat lady blocks.

"Ungh, goddamnit... whose gone?" I ask as I stand erect.

"Be-Beriath!?" Harry asks as both his and Ron's head shoot up.

"None other. Why weren't you two or Hermione at dinner tonight, and who's gone?"

"You." Ron replies plainly.

"Yu? I never noticed any Orientals here."

With a sigh, Harry continues, "Not Yu, you. Y-o-u. As in Professor of the NMC class, Beriath."

"We thought you were dead!" Ron continues unnecessarily.



"Who or what the hell gave you that idea!?"

"Madame Pomfrey." Ron and Harry respond instantaneously.

"Whoa... M3."

"M3?" Harry inquires.

"Yeah, Mind Melding Moment... M3."

"Ah."

"Where is Hermione?"

"In her room, crying." Harry says. Ron just frowns.

"You three really got that depressed over my supposed demise?"

"Well, um..."

sniff, sniff I'm touched." I say feigning tears. "C'mon you guys, I'm a fucking two-hundred and forty-seven trillion year old demon. I am more of an immortal than that crock Voldemort. I've survived complete vaporization before... granted I was sore as hell afterwards, but... Yee-ah, not a pleasant experience, that." After a sigh, "Ah, well, I just wanted to tell you that classes would be resumed as normal tomorrow. Give the message to everyone else, will ya?"

"Sure." Ron says.

"Hey, Beriath?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you should go see Hermione. She's been locked up in her room since your fight with Kain."

"But Harry, the stairs." Ron mutters.

"I know about them turning into a slide, Ron." I say as I begin my ascent.

"Hey! Why aren't they working?" Ron asks indignantly.

"Because I am not male."

"WHAT!?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not female either. Demons are sexless until a sex is needed, you get my drift? What you see, including the so-called demoness', is just a physical form based on our own preferences." I say as I disappear up the stairs.

Hermione's bed is easy to identify since it is the only one from which wracking sobs are emanating. What is truly odd is that no one else is there. "Hermione."

"Huh?" she mutters as she lifts her head. "Beriath!?"

"None other."

"Beriath!" She shouts as she takes me down with a flying tackle. Unfortunately for me... well, maybe fortunately... she is only wearing a very short, very revealing silk cerulean negligee. "It is you! It is you!" She shouts as she give a rather sloppy kiss. One might imagine that a kiss from Fang might be cleaner... certainly more controlled.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ, why the hell am I so damned popular with you three?" I ask as I somewhat reluctantly push her off me (What? You wouldn't be reluctant to do so!?) "Mione, this wasn't the first time I've had my heart crushed. Still, I suppose I should fill you three in on my full abilities. Why don't you, Harry, and Ron stick around after class tomorrow?"

"Okay, Beriath." She says turning red, finally seeming to realize the situation she put herself in. However, in spite of her embarrassment, she looked at me with an almost profound respect. She probably realizes that I could have taken advantage of her emotional state, and didn't.

"Ha, ha, don't be embarrassed, Mione... just be bare-assed."



"BERIATH!"

"Ha, ha. I'm just joking. But you must admit, you had it coming."

"Heh. I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about it though, shit happens." I say as I start to take my leave, just as I get to the door, "Hermione?"

"Yes, Beriath?"

"I'm glad that you guys care about me so much, I really do. It's been a very long time since I had a real friend. ... Thank you. Extend my thanks to Harry and Ron as well, will ya?"

"Sure."

From the other side of the door Hermione hears me mutter, "Fuck... I need a cold shower... I wonder if I can get Kagome to come up here..."

/

The next day, in class...

"G'Afternoon class." I say as I storm into the room. "Okay we have only thirty minutes a day and we need to make up a missed week." I say as I walk between the desks to the small combat area in the back of the room. About halfway down, I stop dead in my tracks, "Oh, you're back." I say as I stare at Draco. "Okay, put your weapons away for now... and Draco, stop fondling yours, or I'll chop it off."

Somehow, with as white as he is, he still manages to pale as he quickly puts his hands on his desk.

"Hmph. You are still an ass, but you are learning to take orders. Good. You may yet earn your house some points. Alright class, today'll be one of the few days that is strictly lecture. We may have time for one or two challenges afterward, though. Demons...

As I understand it, you all will not be taught about them until later in the year. Recent events, specifically my battle with Kain, prompted me to deliver this little lecture. Now, I know that I have referred to myself as 'demon' on more than one occasion. However, I think it is prudent that you know that I... my species... are not true demons. 'Demon' is merely a title ascribed to my species by you humans, one which we have grown fond of. We were originally called the Yharaxis. Which, literally translated, means 'of god' in an ancient and long dead tongue. The fact of the matter is that the multi-verse has it's own will, but no means of carrying it out. Thus, we, the Yharaxis, were created by the multi-verse sacrificing ten parts of itself to create beings that can affect it. We are... beneficial viruses for lack of a better term, that serve the will of all reality. Each of the ten Yharaxis was made by hyper-condensing five percent of the multi-verse's power. That means, people, that the ten Yharaxis are as powerful as all of reality. When one of the Yharaxis dies... truly dies, their power is divided among the remaining Yharaxis. I am the last of the Yharaxis. So, who can tell me what that implies?"

"That you are equal to all of reality, that you are the most powerful being in this and in any other universe." Hermione puts in, awe-struck.

"Correct, but only to an extent. Contrary to the monotheistic belief that there is one all-powerful, all-knowing God, there isn't. While there is something all-powerful and all-knowing, it is not an individual, it is the Amalgamation, otherwise known as the multi-verse. You must also consider that the multi-verse is unable to carry out it's own will, whereas I am. Thus I have the edge, which means that I am, not God, nor the gods, but something greater, and at the same time something less. I am not all powerful, nor omnipotent... granted, you'll have a hell of a time finding someone that can take me down, but I digress. Anyway, being the last of those able to carry out the will of the multi-verse, I am a true immortal. To put things more simplistically, the 

multi-verse is the brains of reality and I am the brawn. Now, here's a brain-teaser, the Yharaxis, even the halflings, cannot be killed by physical methods. Even the weakest of us can survive total vaporization, nor do we age, so how is it that I am one of the last of my kind?" ... "Figures. Fine, do any of you have any theories?"

"Well, I have one." Ruddige begins, "I assume that you are familiar with how to defend yourself against aggressive ghosts?"

"Correct. But never assume anything, Ruddige, people die when assumptions are made. Your phrasing said assumption as a question is the only thing that saved you from losing some points."

"Ah, sorry."

"S'alright. Continue."

"Well, when a ghost attacks it'll become a ghoul if you try to fight it, but if you just ignore it and thereby lose belief in it's power, it fades from existence. If the Yharaxis are essentially the creators of the reality we know then faith, of any kind, should aid in preserving your livelihood. But a dramatic loss of faith has occurred in the past few years. I imagine that this would weaken, if not outright kill your kind."

"Interesting." I begin non-committally, "Then how do you explain my existence and my ability to maintain my power?"

"Simple. All I implied was that your species needed to be believed in, I didn't say by who. I imagine that your ego and height of self-belief is what preserved both your continued existence and power."

"My... EGO!? You FUCKING BASTARD! One-hundred points..." I begin angrily, "...to Ravenclaw." All that follows are one or two sharp inhales of air, and a stunned silence, "Haha. While it may be unpleasant to hear to most ears, it is exactly the case. Congratulations, Ruddige, you just gave Ravenclaw a huge handicap over the other houses as far as the house cup goes. I look forward to watching your first challenge, Ruddige, if you as ruthless in combat as you are intelligent, the others are going to have to watch their backs around you. Now, there is one last thing that must be done before class is dismissed. Malfoy, pick a weapon." I finish as the table at the back of the room once again is covered in weapons. Without much hesitation he picks up a scythe. The pole portion is straight and about six feet long, and has a small spike at the bottom. The top of which is decorated with a human skull. The three foot long curved blade comes out of the open mouth of the skull. And although it can't be seen yet, I know that the pole splits about five feet from the bottom, and a five foot long chain links the two segments. "Damn..." I mutter quietly. "Any challenges?"

"I challenge Potter." Malfoy says predictably from near the table, which has since disappeared.

"I accept." Harry says with a small smirk, as he picks up his bladed numchucks.

"Don't Harry. Not with those. Use the sword I gave you."

"Why?"

"Because the weapons given out here are regular weapons. They have limited special abilities and are thus, unnamed... at least for now. That scythe is Shitai-Shuukaku. Body Harvest. It has special abilities, and you won't be able to touch Malfoy using anything but Shuukaku-Hito, the fact that Malfoy has the Shit-kak can only mean that he has been selected as one of Voldemorts lieutenants, just as the fact that you have the Kak-hit means you are one of my lieutenants. The Yharaxis are powerful healers, we can regenerate any limb, resurrect the recently dead, and even recreate a vaporized body and return the soul to it to make sort of a 

living-dead person. Among the Yharaxis, I am one of the more powerful healers, but if Malfoy killed you with that weapon, there will be no resurrection for you. Shitai-Shuukaku is shrouded in death magic, magic far superior to my healing abilities."

"Okay." Harry mutters as he sets his numchucks down and picks up a long, black velvet case and withdraws his sword.

"Ready, Potter?" Malfoy asks smugly.

"Ready."

With a small smirk, Malfoy charges Harry, "WAIT!"

"I was under the impression, Beriath, that you would not be interfering with our matches."

"Oh? And who told you that, Malfoy?"

"Lazcolz."

"Indeed. And you were told correct... to an extent. I'll not intervene with a match so long as the odds are not stacked against one or the other, in this instance, the odds are stacked against Harry, as such I shall even out those odds. Bankai: Okosu Rikugun, Shuukaku-Hito; Kuchiyose: Beriath. (Full Release: Rouse the Army, Soul Reaper; Summon: Beriath.) I say as a black viscous fluid flows from the blade of Harry's sword, which, within a matter of moments grows and solidifies into an exact clone of me. Which, without word or warning, unsheathes an exact copy of Shuukaku-Hito from the small of his back and stabs Malfoy in the upper right potion of his chest. It is doubtful that the blade touched his heart, but it certainly hit a lung, since Malfoy's breathing became labored and he started coughing up blood. "MEDIC!" I shout, and Madame Pomfrey appears in a torrent of black flames.

"Ungh! Dammit, Beriath! Again!?"

"What can I say? Malfoy's, ummm... accident prone. Ah well, class dismissed." As the students get up and begin to leave, "Harry, could I speak to you a moment?"

At that he turns and approaches silently, Ron follows a few moments later. "Yeah, Beriath, what's up?"

"I asked for Harry, not you Ron."

"I know, but there's something I want to ask you."

"sigh Fine. Harry, that weapon is special, even among the Demons' Blades. There are three commands for it. Shokei, Execute, which increases its basic statistics, speed, strength, and so on. Okosu Rikugun, Rouse the Army, which resurrects any and everyone killed by that blade. And finally, Eienka, immortalize, it does it exactly that. Remember those three commands, they are the key to using that blade effectively. Now then Ron, your question?"

"Uhh, Harry would you mind letting me talk to Beriath privately?"

"Sure, Ron. Huh? Wait a minute, you said that the second command, Okosu Rikugun, resurrected anyone killed by this blade... so how did it call upon you?" Harry asks.

"Good question. Upon discovering the abilities of that blade I used it to kill myself. Many of us had a mortal life, the template of which was used upon the creation of a Yharaxis. I was the third mortal selected as a template... It is a huge honor. That blade is a copy of the one that I killed myself with."

"Why did you kill yourself... if you don't mind my asking."

"Because I could. Tell me Harry if you were powerful and skilled enough to take out a whole army alone, just think of what two of yourself could do. At the time, I had a lot of people to protect, I died so that they would have a better chance at survival. That was the end of my mortality. My resurrective capabilities for some reason, failed me. But I was reborn, later, as a 

Yharaxis."

"Incredible. Thanks for answering, Beriath." Harry says as he turns and leaves.

Turning to Ron, "Well?"

"... Was she as hot as I think she was?"

"Ha! Haha! So she told you, huh?"

"Yeah. Was she?"

"Oh, yeah." Ron just groans and walks out in response, "Heh, poor bastard." After a moments hesitation, "I'll probably be dropping by the tower later tonight." I call after him.

/

Later in Gryffindor Tower...

"Hey, all." I mutter as I crawl through the hole that the portrait of the fat lady guards.

"Hey, Beriath." Came the lack-luster reply from Harry as he glances up, dazedly from the chess board. "Damn, Ron, you win again." Harry mutters as he tips his king.

"I told you, boy, to move the goddamn knight!" This from the toppled king.

"Hah. So, Ron, you're a chess genius." I state more than ask.

"Seems that way. I just thought that my brothers and Dad didn't have any talent for the game, but no matter who I play, I've never lost a game."

"I figured as much. I imagine that you'd make a decent general some day. Where is Hermione?"

"Mione went up to the girls dormitory about an hour ago." Ron puts in blandly.

Harry elaborates, "When we asked her if she was staying for your visit she just blushed and muttered something about homework."

"She obviously likes you, and I don't mean as a teacher. You two make an... interesting couple." Ron continues resentfully.

"Perhaps, but there are two small problems. One: as far as the strangeness of the couple, I think that Snape and Fluffy have me and Hermione beat, hands down. Two: I wouldn't go so far as to call us a couple... though, truthfully, I wouldn't resent the idea." I reply simply.

"Snape and Fluffy... you're shitting me, right?" Ron asks, disbelievingly.

"I wish I were... What I saw last night will be giving me nightmares for a very, very long time." I say as I shudder at the thought of it. "Still, I can't help but wonder what Hagrid and Voldemort would have to say about the relationship. I think Hagrid would throw a fit if he found out, but somehow, I doubt that Voldemort would care.

Ron and Harry just stare in disbelief, and after a few seconds pause, long enough for the disturbing information to sink in, they both shudder. "Ungh, disgusting." Harry mutters. Ron merely makes some gagging noises.

"Yeah, sickening isn't it? Still, at least now, you've something to blackmail Snape with." After a moments pause and a long sigh, "Harry, could I have a moment with Ron?"

"Yeah, sure." Harry says as he stands slowly and walks up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

"Okay Ron, do you want Hermione?"

After a seconds hesitation, "...Yes."

"I figured as much. So do I. So, since we both want her, I suggest we let her choose. Now, I am going to start going all out to win her. I have more experience in winning hearts that you could ever imagine... While I hate to admit it, you have the benefit of her already loving you. The only thing that is keeping you from already having a meaningful relationship with her, beyond that of just normal friendship, is your own cowardice. I will give you seventy-two hours 

to ask Mione to the Yule Ball. I will start making moves of my own after that point."

"But... But what if she refuses?"

"Hah, if you ask, she'll not refuse. But I can also tell you, if you don't make a move, she's gonna move on. She's getting impatient, and I can't blame her. You need to understand that love... it's not an emotion. It is an entity of it's own, and just like any other living thing, if you ignore it, it dies and ends up rotting away. But, if you acknowledge it, and nurture it, it'll grow and flourish. All things do their utmost to survive, so if you let that part of her wither and die, she's gonna move on, to someone who won't. The fact that she went to the Ball with Krum last year is because she can feel that part of herself dying. The death of love... it is a long process, I'll grant, but she won't last forever. You get what I'm sayin'?"

"I don't know... You mean to say that if I don't acknowledge that she loves me, she'll look for love somewhere else? And how would you know something like that?"

With a sigh, "Incomplete, but that's the long and the short of it, yes. As to how I know... well, you learn a lot and experience first-hand most that any life has to offer in nearly two-hundred and fifty trillion years."

"Did I just hear you say that you are nearly two-hundred and fifty trillion?"

"Yes. Remember Ron, three days, that is the only leeway I will give you. It is a hard thing, I know, to pluck up your courage, but you must, because a coward is the last thing I can tolerate, and is always the first to die."

"I understand."

/

Three days later...

"Congratulations Balthazar. You are now up to twenty-seven PP. And Longbottom, I am sorry to lose you, but you have exhausted all of your points. Now then, I feel that this is an appropriate time to mention two things. First: this is not necessarily the end for Neville, if one of you values him enough, you are free to donate a few of your own points to him. But bear in mind that by doing so, he could become a great and useful ally, or he could stab you in the back and take all of your points. Will anyone donate?"

"I will."

"Ah, Hermione, thank you. You have twenty-two PP, how much will you give to Neville?"

"Seven."

"Very well. Mione, you now have fifteen and Longbottom has seven."

Neville, through the veil of blood, casts Hermione a sideways glance, "Thank you, Hermione."

"No problem, Neville."

"Now then, the second thing I wish to address is that I said on your first day that we would learn how to integrate magic into combat. However, I do not speak of casting spells with wand in one hand and weapon in the other; how many of you have noticed something odd about these weapons that you all carry?" Almost every hand in the room goes up, "Good. That is because these are soul blades. They already have magical properties, and abilities...

"But you told us when we selected our weapons that they were in no way magical." Ruddige puts in.

"This is true. To activate the abilities of these weapons, one must cast a spell to quote-unquote awaken these blades. When you know the spell, these weapons can become powerful tools of destruction... which is good, since your final exam will be a fight... against me." At that 

an outraged murmur took over the room, "Do not fret, I do not expect you win against me. Doing so would show talent beyond compare. You will be graded upon your skill with the weapon, your level of awakening; I know that you do not know what I am speaking of, that will be addressed in a few moments; bravery, ingenuity, and intelligence. The level of awakening I speak of is your magical proficiency with your weapon. When you each handle your weapon, I am sure most of you get a name. These are the names of your weapons, this is how to release stage one, Shikai. Stage two is Bankai, and stage three is Kajokai. These weapons are commonly called Zanpakutohs by the originating culture. Now I will tell you all the stage one command. Balthazar, your command is Kubi o Haneru, Atama Ryoshi;Decapitate, Head Hunter. Black, Tsuranuku, Kaikiba;Pierce, Great Fang. Crabbe, Owari Sekai, Wabishisa;End the World, Desolation. Goyle, Kishisuru, Sonkeiken;Knight, Honor Blade. Granger, your daggers are Ugoki, Futagoken and your whip is Chimori no Mai, Chimamire Hebi; Move, Twin Blades and Dance of the Blood Forest, Bloody Serpent. Hellsing, Tokeru, Yoganken;Melt, Magma Blade. Jacobs, Kirihansu, Kogoeru Kaze;Sever, Freezing Wind. Longbottom, Kogeki, Kuraikobushi;Strike, Dark Fist. Malfoy, Korosu, Shitai Shuukaku;Kill, Body Harvest. Potter, Tsukaikonasu, Kisoha; Harness, Element Edge. Ruddige, Ninarukichigai, Seishinbyo Kanjyaken; Go Insane, Psychotic Blade. Spinnet, Odoru, Santaiyou;Dance, Three Suns. Weasley, Sodateru, Inochi Ki;Grow, Life Tree. Xandaar, Bakuhatsu, Atama Ichigeki; Explode, Head Smasher. Zalcon, Hikkaku, Gintsume;Scratch, Silver Claw. Now then, class dismissed."

With visible relief, Ron stands and quickly but unassumingly, heads for the door.

"Ron..."

"Damn." I hear him mutter as he approaches my desk, "Yes, Beriath?" He asks, quietly.

"What? You didn't think I'd forget, did ya?"

"No, but I had hoped."

"Heh, I guess that means you haven't asked her, huh?"

"No."

"Do so now, or I will."

"Mione?" Ron calls.

Noticing Ron's subdued expression, she quickly breaks off her conversation with Harry, Neville, and Hellsing of all people, and approaches, "Yes, Ron?"

"Hermione...uhh... " Ron stammers, "Umm... would you... uh, shit... um... cough... would you like... aw, goddamnit, never mind, Mione." Ron finishes as he storms off.

"Baka (Idiot)." I mutter plainly.

"Beriath?"

"We're having a Yule Ball this year, and he wanted to ask you to go with him. I know that he has a problem with shyness, I was hoping that by forcing him to make a move that he might overcome his fear."

"Fear? Of what?"

"Rejection. I assume that you want to go with him?"

"Of course."

"I thought as much. Tell me, Mione, do you want to help teach him a lesson?"

"Depends on what kind of lesson. What did you have in mind?"

"I was just thinking of letting him think that you're going to the ball with me."

"Is it true?"

"What?"

"I heard from Harry that you like me, and want to go with me to the ball, is that true?"



With a sigh, "In a manner. Yes, I'd love to, but regardless of whether you wanted to or not, I'd not be able to be your date since I am one of the chaperones that night."

"I see."

"Having said that, don't worry about clothes or jewelry for the big event, I'll take care of that."

"Are you sure? Dress robes alone are quite expensive."

"Ha, no problem, I have enough money to, quite literally, buy all of Europe. Also, would you mind telling Harry, Ron, and Ginny, that I'll also be taking care of their stuff for the main event? ... actually, strike that, don't tell them."

With a small smile, "Sure, and thanks, Beriath."

"No problem, just answer me one question."

"Sure. What?"

"Would you have gone with me to the Ball, were I available and didn't tell you about Ron?"

"I don't know. I like you... a lot, and not as a teacher, but there is the age difference..."

"Hahaha, you have no idea."

"Well, how old could you possibly be?"

"How old do you think I am?"

"I wouldn't put you past thirty... but you look more like twenty, twenty-one... which would be acceptable, but the skills you've shown... you don't get those skills in twenty, or even thirty, years."

"In a manner. I stopped aging at twenty-two, but as far as how many years I've lived... you're not even close."

"Forty, then?"

"Higher."

"Fifty?"

"Keep going."

"Sixty!?"

I just point up.

"Seventy?!"

"More."

"Eighty?!"

"Higher, still."

"Ninety!?"

"More."

"A HUNDRED?!"

"Great, now multiply that two and a half times, and put twelve zeros behind it and you'll be close enough."

"Twelve zeros? That means that you're roughly... two-hundred and fifty TRILLION years old!?"

"Bingo."

"... ... ... That's some age difference. But like you said, you tried to force his hand, and not in any unreasonable manner... but I've always liked Ron. But then... I am just as at fault as he is, since I could have said something."

"While that may be true, and it may be sexist, but it is still a given that nobody expects the female to ask the male... especially someone like you. You're are definitely not the one that 

the males turn to out of desperation. You're too beautiful not to have your pick as far as the males go."

"You really think so?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Thanks..." Hermione begins with a small giggle, "Then too, there is the fact that: what would the other professors say?"

"Nothing. I'm too powerful for them to challenge me on any point I make a firm decision on. But I see your point. Oh, and to be more precise, I'm two-hundred and forty-seven trillion. To put things into perspective, if you counted one number, in order, every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day of your life, it would take you seven point eight two six... million years to even come close to my age..." Looking at the small clock on my desk, "Damn... I didn't mean to keep you this long... and you've got potions next. Well, just give Snape this note, and if he gives you any shit, just remind him about Fluffy." I say as I scrawl a note excusing Mione's tardiness to her next class.

"Thanks. And Beriath?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry... I really wish that I'd met you first."

"No... don't be sorry. The life of a Yharaxis... it's a cursed existence. For the individual and anyone around them."

"What do you mean, Beriath?"

"Go on, you'll be late to your next class." I say quietly, in what is an obvious dismissal.

"I see. Thank you Beriath... for everything."

"Sure." I mutter as she turns and leaves.