1996, on a remote mountaintop.

The drifting snow turned black above the smoke billowing from the manor, previously a raging fire, but now only the dreary aftermath remained. What had once been a rigid estate worthy of envy was turned to rubble in just in afternoon, and no one knew why. Or at least, no one in the village below it. The residents were an unnatural family, possibly even witches, some theorized in front of campfires.

Another round of water passing from pail-to-pail, and another small flame among many was extinguished. "That's enough," one of the senior villagers said, taking his bucket and trudging through the snow to the village. "We done what we could. We can't keep wastin' the well's water." The others seemed to raise no objection, contenting themselves with nods that didn't give the ruins a second glance as they went on their village.

All except young Boris, who simply didn't have it in him to leave the site alone. There has to be someone, he reasoned. It hasn't even been that long since the fire started. "Elder!" He cried, met with an impatient glare. He was well aware he was no scholar or strongman that always piqued the village's interest, yet he spoke up anyways. "With all due respect, how can we call this 'done'? Surely there's somebody we've—"

"We looked, Boris." The elder cut him off flatly. "There was two dead. Crushed." He said. His gaze was unusually far off, shaking a bit as he stood. Whether that was a product of the cold or the harrowing truth, Boris couldn't be sure. "Buried 'em under there. Tried to make it quiet-like. God forbid you or one of the young'uns saw it and started bawlin'." He pointed to a pair or large stones, slightly aside from the manor. Boris lost his breath in one gasp, taking a step back as he processed the sight. The elder placed a hand on his shoulder in a rare show of solidarity. "Your mother n' father are probably stoking the fire back home. You should go now."

He didn't have a reply to give until a few solemn moments later, finally looking away. "Yes—yes, that sounds in order." The freezing wind whipped and howled, as if the forces of nature themselves wanted them away from the burial. Boris and his elder didn't have much choice but to leave, lest they became lost in the blizzard.

As the soles of their shoes crunched over the debris and snow, there wasn't much conversation to be made. Just quiet.

Just quiet, until a sound carried into their ears that was barely audible over the wind: an infant's crying.

Boris stopped dead in his tracks, eyes gone wide upon realizing there was still life to be salvaged from this ruin. Not a word said, he bolted to wherever he could pinpoint the sound, heaving chunks of stone and brick out of the way in a desperate search. "A-Ah!" Squinting, he could barely make out a tiny leg fluttering underneath a fallen pillar. He dropped to his knees and forced his palms underneath the pillar, lifting up with every ounce of strength in his skinny bones.

The elder had an air of unsureness about him, conflicted between helping or turning back. "Boris, perhaps this is a matter best left to the laborers. We'll go get them now, just—"

"Shut up! S-Shut up and help me lift!" Boris snapped at him, managing to intimidate even a hardened man such as the elder. The two knelt, getting a grip on the pillar before pushing up in one synchronized effort. Just as their combined strength seemed to give out, the pillar was miraculously shoved aside, freeing the infant.

For a second, Boris didn't know what to do, watching the baby squirm about helplessly. He picked them up, rocking back and forth in his arms. "Got you...got you..." The baby, a girl, Boris found out, was fortunate enough to be bundled in some thin clothes, but it'd hardly enough to brave the cold for long. She needed shelter, fast. "S-Sorry for keeping you here, elder. We should start moving."

The elder stared at Boris, regaining the stern expression on his face. "You know we can't keep the baby, if it's anything like the parents: abnormal." He said, beginning to walk the long way down to the village.

"I understand." A small frown crossed Boris's face; he was disappointed, but he knew the prospect of raising her in the village was never in the cards to begin with. "W-Wait..." Boris's eyes strained as he held the baby: there was a name embroidered into the back of her clothes. "Ca...Cassiel. Her name is Cassiel, elder."

2009 -

"Death...Weapon...Meister...Academy." A girl of thirteen years mouthed the words as she wrote, following the cursive outlines on the page until she could replicate it perfectly. "Finished!" She shouted, waving the paper proudly in her hand.

The steel door to the room creaked open, entering a woman with graying hair and thick wrinkles lining her face. "Yes, well let's have a look." She tilted the frame of her glasses, holding the paper in the slit of sunlight coming from the room's sole window. Hardly a second, and the old teacher haphazardly marked it with a 5/5. "Very good. But I'm here for another reason." The girl sat up on her bed, curious, while the teacher went on. "You want to leave here, don't you, Cassiel?"

She felt her stomach tie up in knots. Just the thought of it riled her up in anticipation. "Yes." The girl answered bluntly. "Is it all like the movies?"

"Don't be silly; much harsher." The teacher said, jabbing a ruler in Cassiel's direction. "But I know that's a better alternative than waiting here 'til the academy loses interest in your protection and you age out of the system with no decent experience. That's why I brought this." She tossed an object Cassiel had never seen before onto the pillow.

"Teacher, I don't quite understand." Cassiel grabbed the thing in her hands, curiously turning it around to examine it from all sides: rectangular, with a few buttons, like a remote, but there was something else inside it behind a glass casing.

"It's a tape recorder—a simple thing that preserves sound for later listening. What you're going to do is press the red button, talk a little about yourself, and...tell them about your alternative education, and press the square button once you've finished."

"Who's 'them'?"

"It's not your job to worry. Begin." In one stride, the teacher left the cell and shut the door, leaving Cassiel all by her lonesome.

She held the recorder up in one hand, lying against the bed's small frame. "Where do I begin?" Cassiel blinked, remembering she had to press the button to start. "Excuse me! Now where do I begin?"

"I'm called Cassiel, no last name given. I live in this room. I learn in this room. I eat in this room, and I sleep in this room. The way I understand your world comes from what I've read and what I've watched on the television."

She rolled over on the bed. "'Humans', you're called! I like the name. It rolls off the tongue nicely. Though I suppose I'd only know because I'm something else entirely: an Esper, and the last one, I've been told."

"I don't see much difference between myself and humans though." Engrossed in her thoughts, Cassiel paced to the sole mirror mounted on the wall. "Perhaps a few minute differences. The characters in the movie don't seem a far cry from this." She floated off the ground to examine her reflection, shaking her head dismissively.

"I've learned a few vital things in my studies, that I think you may want to consider when it comes time to decide if I'm 'fit' for your world." With a clearing of her throat, she went on. "I know what Kishin eggs are—the vilest of things, the very scum of the earth. Teacher said it's all very likely that a pack of them murdered my parents. It's not something I feel quite so intense about; I've no life to compare to before this room, after all. So...it's best that monsters like them slain and rid of, and it'd be my pleasure to do so."

"But I want to know. I want to experience your human things—the ties that bind you so: friendship, passion, familial love... Show me that! Show me that world!"

"Ah! A little much on my part. Here is where I'll stop talking. Please consider me for your academy!"