Aurora: The Supernatural Universe: Book I

By Jolene Kremers

Consequences follow actions. Actions determine worthiness. Worthiness costs more than believed.

When 118-year-old warrior Aurora is banished to Earth from her home world—the Gold Planet of Andorra—she loses her powerful sword and Special Power (the ability to control fire). On Earth, Aurora finds herself in the world of the Death Givers—a superhero organization tasked with stopping the dreaded Disappearances (kidnappings) from overwhelming the nation of Blood Dawn (formerly known as North America).

While helping the Death Givers stop the Disappearances, Aurora struggles with keeping her true identity—she is a vampire!—from Earth’s humans and deciding where exactly a romance with one of the Death Givers fits into the life that she becomes a part of.

Will Aurora return home and regain her sword and her Special Power after her reckless actions ignite a deadly war? Or will she fall victim to a sacrifice curse that will cost her everything, including her worthiness and her life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662454516

Book preview

Chapter 1

Aurora

Coronation Day

I sit on a polished, black, wooden stool inside my chamber. I sit in front of a floor-length mirror outlined in gold. My mother stands behind me, gently pulling my hair away from my face and styling it into an elegant bun. I touch one of the tight braids in my hair; I have a braid on either side of my head.

My mother finishes by pinning the bun in place and putting a diamond, hair comb into my hair. There, she says. She places her hands on my shoulders and our eyes meet in the mirror. I see no hint of worry in her eyes; she knows everything will be fine.

She smiles at our reflection. Are you nervous? she asks.

I stare into my own eyes for a moment. My father wants me to succeed him in keeping Andorra safe and free of conflict. I sure hope I am worthy enough to be Queen.

No, I lie.

My mother gives me a knowing smile and tucks a strand of jet-black hair behind my right ear.

I take a deep breath and exhale, breathing in my mother’s strange, sweet, forestlike scent.

Was father nervous for his coronation? I ask.

No, my mother says, still smiling. He was terrified. He had no reason to be and neither do you. Everything will be fine. You are ready.

I take another deep breath and exhale.

My father has thought long and hard about today. He fears that I am not truly ready to become Queen. That I haven’t learned enough, as well as, proven myself enough to be ruler. He wants me to be a great ruler, just like him.

My mother keeps reassuring him that I will be fine as ruler. That I have his wisdom and her patience. That I will have my younger brother to give me counsel if needed.

An uneasy feeling spreads throughout my body. Being Queen will no doubt be a challenge, a challenge that I am willing to accept.

I stare at my reflection. In the mirror, I see inhuman beauty: A tall, strong, slender frame. Flawless, ice-cold, pale-white skin as hard and smooth as porcelain. Jet-black hair. Striking, dark-blue eyes and a narrow face. I have my father’s long, thin nose and my mother’s long eyelashes.

I wear a silver, ceremonial gown made of lace. The gown is floor-length and has long-sleeves. The gown has a long, silver cape attached to it. The gown has intricate, black designs on it. I wear black, high-heeled shoes with the gown. I also wear a beautiful, diamond necklace and dangling, diamond earrings with the gown.

I glance at my mother’s reflection. In the mirror, I see her inhuman beauty: A tall, strong, slender frame. Flawless, ice-cold, pale-white skin as hard and smooth as porcelain. Long, cascading, jet-black, curly hair. Striking, dark-blue eyes. Long eyelashes and high cheekbones.

My mother has strands of her hair styled back into a tight braid on either side of her head. The braids form into one long braid down the middle of her hair.

She wears a purple, ceremonial gown made of satin. The gown drapes to the floor in soft swirls. The gown has quarter-length-sleeves with intricate, black, lace edges. The gown has a long, purple cape attached to it. The gown has intricate, black designs on the bodice. My mother wears black, high-heeled shoes with the gown. She also wears a beautiful, diamond necklace and dangling, diamond earrings with the gown.

She has a diamond crown on. The crown is the color purple and has the letter A carved into it on the front. The letter A stands for Andorra. My mother has a beautiful, diamond, wedding ring on her left ring finger.

I better go help the others finish the preparations in the Throne Room, she says.

Thank you, I say, for helping me get ready.

She smiles. You’re welcome. You are expected in the Throne Room in thirty minutes.

I nod.

She presses a kiss to my right cheek. She pulls her hands away from my shoulders, turns around and heads toward my chamber’s door. Her heels click lightly against the floor; she is graceful. She grabs and opens the door. It is big and rectangular. It is made of sleek, gold metal and has intricate designs carved into it. My mother leaves my chamber and softly closes the door behind her.

I heave a sigh as I look around at my chamber. My chamber is big and circular with no windows. My chamber is made of sleek, gold metal. The floor has intricate designs carved into it. A big, outside balcony connects to my chamber behind the mirror. The balcony is made of sleek, gold metal and has an intricate railing. Sleek, gold, metal steps with intricate designs carved into them lead up to the balcony. A big, circular, glass light is in the middle of the ceiling.

I have a full-sized bed with a polished, black, wooden bedframe and headboard. Black bedding with intricate, silver designs on the pillows and blanket. Two big, polished, black, wooden dressers with four drawers. A big, sleek, gold, metal closet and built-in, sleek, gold, metal bookshelves; books cover the shelves from floor to ceiling. A small, dark-blue, glass vase sits on a round, polished, black, wooden, bedside table.

I rise from the stool. I don’t want to spend the next thirty minutes or so inside my chamber, waiting for my coronation to begin. Instead, I turn and head toward my door. My heels click lightly against the floor; I am graceful. I grab and open the door; it is smooth. I leave my chamber and softly close the door behind me.

*****

I push open the palace’s large, back doors and step outside into blinding sunlight; my eyes take only a second to adjust. The warmth from the sun’s rays feels good on my exposed, ice-cold skin. A warm breeze ruffles my gown and cape. The palace’s back doors close behind me with a loud, but soft bang. The doors are archway-shaped and are made of sleek, gold metal.

I slowly make my way through the palace’s huge, lush garden. I walk across one of the many gold, cobblestone paths. My necklace glitters in the sunlight; I am sure my earrings and hair comb glitter, as well.

The garden is full of many different kinds of flowers: Roses, Daises, Tulips, Buttercups, Carnations, Primroses and Garden Cosmos to name seven. The garden has many decorative, gray boulders and many intricate, outdoor benches made of sleek, gold metal. Bright rays of sunlight reflect off the benches, like mirrors. The garden has a few large, tall, green, sugar maple trees and a few small, bright purple-pink, profusion crabapple trees. Lush, green, fescue grass surrounds the maples and crabapples. The maple leaves and crabapple leaves scrape lightly together in the breeze.

I breathe in the garden’s many scents as I head toward a large, round fountain. The fountain is made of gold cobblestones. It has a pool and a four-tier leaf. Clear, fresh, blue water streams down the leaf and into the pool; the water sparkles in the sunlight.

I stop at one of the lush, green, rose bushes. I carefully pick a red rose from the bush. Red roses are my favorite kind of flower. Red roses remind me of growth and rebirth: new beginnings. I breathe in the rose’s nice aroma and smile.

I go to one of the benches closest to the water fountain and sit down. The metal is smooth and warm from the sun. Birds chirp nearby. I breathe in their scents. I hear their fluttering hearts pumping fresh streams of blood through their veins. My canine teeth throb and I shake my head.

I look up at the enormous, towering, majestic palace before me. The palace is pipe organ-shaped and is made of intricate, sleek, gold metalwork. The palace has many rooms, outside balconies and gothic-shaped, glass windows. Bright rays of sunlight reflect off the palace walls, like mirrors.

I look back down at the delicate rose in my hands. I see every detail of the rose, from its creases to the tiny tears in its red petals. The rose, as well as, everything around me, is clear, sharp, defined.

I heave a sigh and gently fidget with the rose while being careful of its sharp thorns; its petals are soft underneath my fingertips. I try to soak in my last moments alone as Princess of Andorra. I will be Queen of Andorra the next time I am alone. Things will be both different and similar at the same time.

Andorra is the name of my home world. Andorra is one of many small, round planets in the Cosmic Empire. The planets are smaller than the planet, Earth, and are capable of containing life.

Three hundred years ago, the Cosmic Creation spread throughout the universe, creating the small, round planets. The Cosmic Creation created various races to populate the planets. The Cosmic Creation was a strong, powerful, multicolored, currentlike, cosmic force.

The Cosmic Creation bestowed gifts called Special Powers upon the universe. A person knows he or she has a Special Power when they feel a strong pulse of energy inside their chest. They feel the pulse when they are young or when they are older; it varies from person to person. No one knows who will receive a Special Power and when; it just happens.

The palace’s back doors open and close with a loud, but soft bang. I look up and see my brother, Valiero, walking across one of the gold, cobblestone paths toward me. He is the Prince of Andorra. He is one year younger than I am. He is 117 years old. I am 118 years old. I just turned 118 on April 10, two months ago. My brother just turned 117 on April 29. Yes, our birthdays are in the same month, one year apart.

My brother is inhumanly handsome. He is tall, strong and lean, like father. My brother has flawless, ice-cold, pale-white skin as hard and smooth as porcelain. Shoulder-length, jet-black, wavy hair. Striking, dark-blue eyes and a narrow nose. He has mother’s high cheekbones.

My brother may be handsome, but he has zero interest in settling down. Some girls practically throw themselves at him while others stare and whisper when he walks passed. Although my brother isn’t immune to flirting, he is more interested in being a warrior than starting a family.

I can say the same of myself: in terms of being more interested in being a warrior than starting a family. Some boys stare at me, as well as, whisper when I walk passed. Only a few have made a move on me and I kindly turned them down.

My brother wears a ceremonial outfit: A green, long-sleeved, dress shirt with an elegant, gold sash from his right shoulder down to the left side of his waist. Black, leather pants. Knee-high, black, leather boots and a green, long-sleeved, knee-length jacket with intricate, gold designs on it. The jacket has a long, green cape attached to it; the cape stops at his ankles.

He has an oval-shaped, gold, metal crown on. The crown has a triangular front end and back end. The crown has intricate designs carved into it.

The breeze ruffles his hair and cape as he comes to me. He sits down next to me on the bench, on my left. I breathe in his strange, sweet, forestlike scent.

You’re nervous, he says. I can tell.

Who wouldn’t be? I say. All eyes will be on me shortly.

I wouldn’t worry, sister. You’ll do great as Queen.

Are you sure you’re okay with this?

Yes. I am happy for you. Father chose you, after all.

When the time came for father to choose his successor—it didn’t matter that I was the firstborn child—he chose me over my brother. My brother worked just as hard as I did at proving his worthiness for the throne throughout the years. Apparently, it wasn’t enough.

My brother reaches out and takes my left hand in both of his hands. His skin doesn’t feel ice-cold; our skin is the same temperature. His skin feels smooth.

I am fine with this, sister, he says, seeing concern in my eyes. Really.

Father should have chosen you, I say. You wanted to rule so badly.

My brother and I would stare hungrily at the majestic throne every time we entered the Throne Room. I felt bad for him when father didn’t choose him as his successor. I still feel bad.

I know, my brother says. We both wanted to rule badly. You beat me at proving your worthiness for the throne to father. You should enjoy your coronation. You deserve it. Trust me. I am fine with this.

All right, I say. I believe you.

He releases my hand. You still don’t think you deserve this, do you?

Unfortunately, no, I admit. Father fears that I am not truly ready to succeed him.

He wouldn’t have chosen you if he didn’t think you were ready.

He should have chosen you.

But he didn’t. You care too much about me.

I always will, I say, whether you like it or not.

He looks around at the garden, the breeze ruffling his hair. He moves some strands of his hair behind his right ear.

Do you remember Warrior Training? I ask him, changing the subject.

Yes, he says, without looking at me. Who wouldn’t?

My kind value protecting Andorra, the Cosmic Empire and the rest of the universe from threats above all else. Being a warrior is almost like being a ruler; it is a high honor. In order to become a warrior, you have to train in the warrior arts.

Chapter 2

Aurora

I remember the first time I saw Warrior Training. I was twelve and my brother was eleven. His hair was shorter then.

Father stood between us, holding our hands. His skin didn’t feel ice-cold in mine; our skin was and still is the same temperature. His skin felt smooth in mine.

Father was and still is inhumanly handsome. He is tall, strong and lean. He has flawless, ice-cold, pale-white skin as hard and smooth as porcelain. Short, straight, dark-brown hair. Striking, dark-blue eyes. A round face and a long, thin nose.

He wore his usual outfit: A purple, long-sleeved, button-up shirt. Black, leather pants. Knee-high, black, leather boots and a purple, long-sleeved, knee-length jacket with intricate designs on it. The jacket had a long, purple cape attached to it; the cape stopped at his ankles.

He wore sleek, black armor over the shirt and jacket. The armor had two small, sleek, black, metal disks on it by his hips. He wore sleek, black, metal, arm bracers over the jacket’s sleeves.

He had an oval-shaped, purple, metal crown on. The crown had a triangular front end and back end. The crown had intricate designs carved into it and the letter A carved into it on the front. Father had a black, wedding band on his left ring finger.

He, my brother and I stood on a large, outside balcony connected to a large building made of intricate, sleek, gold metalwork. The balcony was made of sleek, gold metal and had an intricate railing. A sleek, gold, metal staircase led down into the training ground from the left side of the balcony. The training ground was and still is a huge area made of mostly brown dirt.

I wore a short, white dress with quarter-length-sleeves and with blue, floral prints on it. White tights and white shoes. I had my hair styled back into one long braid down my back.

My brother wore a blue, long-sleeved shirt with a black, leather vest over it. Black, leather pants and black, leather boots. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He, father and I watched Warrior Training, which was taking place in the training ground. My brother and I watched with interest.

The male and female warriors, who were teaching the training, wore the standard, warrior uniform: A brown, leather, one-piece uniform with long-sleeves and with intricate designs on it. Brown, leather boots and a long, brown cape attached to the uniform; the cape stopped at the warriors’ ankles.

The warriors wore sleek, brown armor over the uniforms. The armor had two small, sleek, brown, metal disks on it by their hips. The warriors wore sleek, brown, metal, arm bracers over the uniforms’ sleeves.

The male warriors were inhumanly handsome and strong. The female warriors were inhumanly beautiful and had strong, slender frames. The males and females were either short or tall. They had flawless, ice-cold, pale-white skin as hard and smooth as porcelain. They had striking, dark-blue eyes. I could smell their strange, sweet, forestlike scent.

The warriors taught a group of twenty trainees. The trainees were students in school. The group consisted of ten boys and ten girls, between the ages of fifteen to seventeen. They wore all black clothing: Short-sleeved shirts with leather vests over them. Pants with leather belts. Leather boots and leather, wrist guards.

The boys were inhumanly handsome and strong. The girls were inhumanly beautiful and had strong, slender frames. The boys and girls were either short or tall. They had flawless, ice-cold, pale-white skin as hard and smooth as porcelain. They had striking, dark-blue eyes. I could smell their strange, sweet, forestlike scent.

The warriors taught the trainees some weapons usage. Swords clanged against each other. Spears flew through the air. Daggers thrown at human-shaped targets and arrows shot from bows. I craned my neck, trying to see everything that was going on.

I’m going to be one of them, I announced. I’m going to be a warrior.

The sound of training pulled at me; I yearned to be among the trainees. I had a strong interest in becoming a warrior. It felt like my responsibility—my destiny—to be one. To protect Andorra, the Cosmic Empire and the rest of the universe from threats.

I’m going to be a warrior, too, my brother announced.

Then you will have to train in the warrior arts, like they are, father said, nodding toward the trainees.

I will make you proud, father, my brother said, glancing up at father.

I will, too, I said, also, glancing up at father.

He smiled down at us. I know you will, he said.

His smile faded as he crouched down, so he could look at us both in the eyes. I breathed in his strange, sweet, forestlike scent.

His expression turned serious as he said, Listen carefully, my children. Being a warrior is a huge responsibility. As a warrior, you have to stop threats at all cost. You have to protect the innocent—no matter what. You have to be willing to sacrifice things for them, even your own lives. Remember. Never let your guard down in battle. One wrong move can mean the difference between life and death in war. Understand?

Yes, father, my brother and I said at the same time.

Children, mother called from far behind us.

Father looked over his right shoulder before turning to my brother. Valiero. Why don’t you go join your mother? I need to speak to your sister alone for a moment.

My brother nodded and father released my brother’s hand. My brother turned and jogged down the alley behind us toward mother.

Father turned to me and took both of my hands in his. He remained crouched as he said, Aurora, my daughter. Promise me that you will always protect your brother. No matter what.

Yes, father. I promise, I said. You know I care about him.

I know. Father heaved a sigh. It is just that I worry about him.

Father stood and released my left hand. Come, he said. Let’s go join your mother and brother.

Father kept my right hand in his left hand as we walked down the alley toward my mother and brother. I looked back at the warriors and trainees in the training ground. I was going to do whatever it took to become a great warrior. To make my family proud. To succeed.

I was ready.

*****

My brother and I engaged in Warrior Training when he was fifteen and I was sixteen. Our group consisted of ten boys and ten girls—between the ages of fifteen to seventeen—all students in school. My brother and I wore the same black clothes as the other trainees.

Warrior Training was and still is an intense competition. Each trainee fights for a spot on the top ten; only the top ten become warriors at the end of training. The warriors, who teach the training, rank the trainees from one to twenty, based on how well they do from the beginning to the end of training. The trainees with the top ten scores at the end of training become warriors. The rest of the trainees each choose one of the many citizen jobs.

Warrior Training starts the moment you join and lasts for six months. The trainees learn warfare, strategy, weapons usage and combat skills. They engage in weapons practice and hand-to-hand combat called Practice Fights.

Practice Fights are brutal and bloody. They allow the trainees to show off their combat skills. The goal is to master the method of combat. There are two opponents per fight. They fight each other until one of them can no longer continue. In other words, until one of them beats the living crap out of the other. The fights often include cries of pain and the awful sound of bones breaking. The fights are hard to watch. Much less participate in.

It is a good thing that my kind have a rapid, regenerative, healing factor that leaves no scars behind. Our skin, despite it being as hard as porcelain, is penetrable.

Warrior Training is no laughing matter. The warriors, who teach the training, including my father, are strict about bringing in new generations of highly skilled warriors. That is why training is the way it is. There is no room for error when protecting the Cosmic Empire and the rest of the universe. My father knows that all too well. He has seen what the universe can dish up over his long existence.

As a warrior, he has battled and destroyed creatures. Invaded and devastated enemy worlds. Laid waste to mighty civilizations and defeated strong enemies.

My parents often came to observe Warrior Training. They would stand on the outside balcony of the large, gold, metal building next to the training ground.

I slowly improved with my training. I got better and better each time. Stronger. Faster. I couldn’t fail; failure wasn’t an option for me. I had to make the top ten. I had to prove that I was worthy of being a great warrior.

I fought one of the girl trainees in a Practice Fight. She was good. I threw a few punches before she took me to the ground in a flash. She pinned me to the dirt and punched me hard in the face. I tried to break free from her grip. She pulled away after a few good, hard punches to my face. She kicked me in my right side until one of the female warriors broke up the fight. She declared the girl the winner.

I clutched my right side as I slowly got up from the dirt. I had bruised ribs and small cuts on my face. I glanced at my brother, who stood among the rest of the trainees. He just looked at me. I glanced up at my parents on the outside balcony. My father shook his head at me, disappointed.

I slowly turned and glanced at the ranking board; I was number fifteen. I gritted my straight, white teeth in frustration. I had to do better than that.

My wounds healed, shortly after the fight. I pushed myself to do better with my training.

I fought one of the boy trainees, one week after my fight with the girl. The boy was good. I threw a few punches before he punched me hard in the face, knocking me to the ground. I landed on my stomach in the dirt. My left cheek stung from the punch.

I spit blood from my mouth and clenched my teeth. I twisted around and kicked the boy hard in the chest. He flew a good distance away from me before landing on his back in the dirt. We both jumped back up onto our feet.

He ran to me and tried to punch me. I dodged the punch and kicked him in the face, knocking him back to the dirt. I pinned him to the dirt in a flash and punched him hard in the face. I punched him until one of the male warriors grabbed my arms and wrenched me away from the boy. The warrior declared me the winner.

He released my arms and I glanced down at the boy. Low groans escaped him; he was on the verge of unconsciousness. I glanced down at my hands, still clenched into tight fists. My knuckles were stained red from the boy’s blood. I glanced up at my father on the outside balcony. He nodded approvingly.

My brother and I juggled both Warrior Training and schoolwork. We managed to get through it. We did well in school; we were both intelligent students.

Warrior Training took and still takes place after school. School takes place year round, every day. The school staff decide which months the students get off every year; students always get four months off. The students engaging in Warrior Training still have to train, if training falls on those four months. The school staff—including my father—decide when school starts and ends every year and when students move up from grade to grade; there are twelve grades.

The average school starting age is six and the average graduation age is seventeen. Some parents send their children to school at age five. My parents sent me at age six, as well as, my brother.

Students learn many things in school, including Andorra’s history: its structure, resources and the various citizen jobs. The Cosmic Empire’s history and the rest of the universe’s history.

While I improved with my training and moved up the ranking board, my brother remained at number twenty. He was the slowest and weakest of the group. Warrior Training was tough for him.

Two weeks into training, he fell victim to bullying. Yes. Yes, he did. The bullies were three boys in the group. They targeted my brother, because he was the slowest and weakest of the group. Because he was different.

I felt bad for him. The bullies wanted him to fail training. I couldn’t help him improve his training. Helping other trainees improve their training is against the rules; it makes training unfair. Every trainee for themselves.

The bullying occurred when my parents weren’t present and when the warriors weren’t paying enough attention to notice. My fellow trainees did nothing to help my brother against the bullying. He didn’t want me to help him. He didn’t want to tell on the bullies, either. He was scared and embarrassed. He made me promise not to tell on the bullies.

The other trainees and I threw sharp daggers at human-shaped targets in the training ground one day. We had our daggers secured in our belts. We stood a good distance from the targets; we each had our own target.

My daggers struck my target square in the chest after just three minutes. I was the only one, who still wasn’t having trouble with striking their target. The other trainees managed to strike their targets, but not without having some daggers miss or bounce off their targets and land in the dirt.

My brother kept missing his target. His daggers either missed the target entirely or bounced off it and landed in the dirt. He had his daggers secured in his belt. He gritted his straight, white teeth in frustration. He planted his feet and gripped one of his daggers in his right hand. He positioned his arm back and threw the dagger at his target. The dagger bounced off the target and landed in the dirt.

Well, that was pathetic, a boy said, far to my right.

I glanced at him. He was one of the bullies. He smirked at my brother while the other two bullies stood near the boy and chuckled.

My brother pressed his lips together and drew another one of his daggers. He focused on his target and tried to ignore the bullies.

You okay there, weakling? one of them said. You look like you’re about to cry—if you could cry. If you beg, the warriors may just give you a score. The bullies let out a laugh and smirked at my brother.

I tightened my grip on the dagger in my right hand—my forearm flexed with hard muscle—the heat of anger rising in my veins. Oh, you have no idea how badly I wanted to wipe off the smirk on the bullies’ faces.

My brother tightened his grip on the dagger in his right hand; his forearm flexed with hard muscle. He clenched his teeth and glared at his target. He threw the dagger with a good amount of force at the target. The dagger spun, blade over handle. The dagger buried itself deep in the target’s chest, almost knocking the target over. The bullies stopped laughing and just looked at my brother. He clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides and glared at the bullies.

When weapons practice was over for the day, I stood at one of the outside tables as I set my last two daggers down onto the table. My brother headed toward the table to put his last dagger away. As he reached the table, one of the bullies shoved him hard as he walked passed. My brother fell to the ground, landing on his stomach.

Out of my way, weakling, the boy sneered.

He went to the other two bullies and they all stood off to the side. They smirked at my brother, once again. He got up from the ground and dusted himself off. He glared at the bullies, rage flooding his eyes. The bullies turned around and walked away.

My brother gritted his teeth and drew his last dagger. He drove the blade right through the table, startling me. My eyes widened and darted from the blade to my brother. He let go of the blade and walked around the table.

He pushed passed me, murmuring coldly, They will pay. They will pay.

The next day, my brother started to push himself to do better with his training. He wanted to succeed. Badly. He had to. Like me, failure wasn’t an option for him. He needed to show the bullies that he wasn’t pathetic and weak. He tried to ignore them and focus on improving his training.

He got better and better. He was determined. The bullies continued to harass him and that added fuel to the fire. I constantly saw rage and hatred in my brother’s eyes.

One day, after training was over, I was on my way back to the palace to do my homework when I heard muffled cries and the shuffling of feet. My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. I turned and sprinted toward the sounds.

As I drew closer, I heard voices.

You should have stayed the weakling, a boy hissed, you pathetic immortal.

Come on, another boy hissed. Get him over. Get him over.

I gasped as I stumbled upon the three bullies desperately trying to toss my brother over a large, outside balcony and into the deep, clear, rushing, blue water far below. The balcony connected to a large building made of intricate, sleek, brown metalwork. The building was on a huge cliff. The balcony was made of sleek, brown metal and had an intricate railing. I heard the loud roar of the water coming off a large waterfall to my left.

The bullies had my brother near the balcony railing. They grunted as they struggled to lift him up and over the railing, their forearms flexing with hard muscle. My brother thrashed in their arms; his eyes were wide with rage and shock. One of the bullies had his hand over my brother’s mouth, muffling his cries.

Get away from him! I hissed, rage boiling in my veins. Leave him alone!

As two of the bullies turned around to face me, I grabbed one of them by his shoulders and wrenched him away from my brother. I shoved the bully hard and he fell to the floor, landing on his stomach. He hissed and jumped back up onto his feet. He spun around to face me and threw some punches. I blocked his punches with my forearms. Each punch felt like a stone striking my skin, stinging my arms.

Another bully grabbed my ponytail from behind me and threw me away from him. I hit one of the building’s walls and fell to the floor. I landed on my stomach. Pain shot through me and I clenched my teeth. I jumped back up onto my feet.

I ran toward the bully, who threw me. In one bound, I locked my legs around his neck and took him to the floor. He groaned. I unlocked my legs and rolled away from him. I jumped back up onto my feet and glanced at my brother.

The third bully had his hands wrapped tightly around my brother’s throat; he had shoved my brother down onto the balcony railing. My brother clawed at the bully’s hands, trying to pry them from his throat.

The other two bullies rushed at me. I drove my right knee into a bully’s gut while elbowing the other in the jaw. I grabbed the bully in front of me by his throat and threw him away from me. He hit one of the building’s walls and fell to the floor. He landed on his stomach. He groaned.

The third bully started to choke my brother. He managed to kick the bully in the chest, releasing his death grip. The bully stumbled back as my brother fell onto his hands and knees. He gasped and coughed. He clutched his throat with his right hand and breathed in quick, sharp breaths.

The bully—whom I threw away from me—got up from the floor and rushed at me. My brother quickly got to his feet, ran to the bully, wrapped his arms around the bully’s waist and shoved him to the floor. They engaged in a brief scuffle on the floor.

A bully got behind me, grabbed my arms and pinned them back. The other bully punched me hard in the face and ribs. I hissed and kicked him in the chest. He fell onto his back. I kicked the bully behind me hard in his right shin. I heard a bone snap and a high-pitched cry from him.

He quickly released my arms. I spun around on my heel and punched him hard in the face, almost spinning his head around. He fell to the floor, landing on his right side. He clutched his right shin and groaned through his straight, white teeth.

I heard the awful crunch of a nose breaking and a high-pitched cry from my brother. I spun around to find him lying on the floor, clutching his face. I ran to him, grabbed and wrenched the bully away from him. I shoved the bully away from me and stepped in front of my brother to protect him.

The remaining two bullies rushed at me. I ignited two large fireballs, one in each hand. The two bullies stopped dead in their tracks. They gasped and stumbled back, their striking, dark-blue eyes widening in fear. I smiled wickedly at them, showing my teeth.

The fireballs crackled loudly. The bright yellow-and-orange flames engulfed my hands. I felt the intense, scorching heat of the flames all the way down to my bones and yet, the flames did not burn me. I was and still am immune to fire.

My Special Power is the ability to manipulate, control and bend fire to my will. I received my Special Power at age thirteen. I felt a strong pulse of energy inside my chest one day; I was alone inside my chamber. When I tapped into the energy, I immediately ignited two large fireballs in my hands. Shortly after that, the strong pulse of energy inside my chest vanished and my Special Power remained; the fireballs extinguished after a minute. Since then, I learned how to properly control and use my Special Power.

Of course, I couldn’t use my Special Power to improve my training. Using Special Powers to improve your training is against the rules; it makes training unfair for those, who do not have Special Powers.

Back off, I hissed harshly at the bullies, or I will set all three of you ablaze.

They stared wide-eyed at me.

I took a step toward them, a vicious hiss ripping through my clenched teeth. The bullies backed off then. Two of them spun around and bolted down the alley. The third slowly stood up and limped as fast as he could down the alley and away from me. He had the broken leg, which was starting to heal.

I waited ten seconds before extinguishing the fireballs. I turned to my brother, who was lying on the floor in a fetal position, clutching his blood-smeared