Surviving in the Demon's Academy as a Human

Aiden awoke to the sensation of warmth against his chest. His half-lidded eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he noticed was a tangle of golden hair spilling over the pillow beside him. Zepharion lay next to him, her face peaceful in sleep, an expression that was startlingly out of place on someone who had once been his tormentor.

It took a moment for the reality of the situation to sink in. Aiden's body stiffened as he realized that, at some point during the night, he had unconsciously wrapped an arm around her. He quickly withdrew, his heart racing—not from attraction, but from the sheer awkwardness of it all.

Why does this keep happening? he thought, running a hand down his face. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in such an embarrassing predicament. He sighed and carefully slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb Zepharion. Despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to resent her. If anything, he pitied her.

As he crossed the room, his reflection in the mirror caught his eye. He paused, staring at the person he was becoming. Stripping off his shirt, he took in the changes to his body—broader shoulders, defined muscles, and a taller, more imposing frame. It was undeniable. He wasn't just stronger; he was changing in ways he didn't fully understand.

The power he'd stolen from Zepharion coursed through him like an electric current, foreign and intoxicating. It was like tasting forbidden fruit—he could feel the weight of it, the potential it carried, but also the danger. His grip on it was tenuous, and deep down, he knew it wasn't truly his. This strength, these abilities, they belonged to Zepharion.

Only half of her power had transferred to him during their confrontation, and even that half was overwhelming. If he'd faced this version of himself just a few months ago, he'd have stood no chance. But that knowledge brought little comfort. This isn't just strength—it's a responsibility. If I don't learn to control it, it could destroy me.

The thought lingered as he stared at his reflection. He could feel the bloodline abilities of Zepharion's lineage stirring within him, like a caged beast waiting to be unleashed. The temptation to revel in that strength was there, but Aiden shook his head. No. I can't lose myself to this. I need to stay grounded. I need to train, to understand what I've taken.

The academy's library had been a treasure trove of information, and he'd spent countless hours devouring books about demons and their abilities. He'd learned how demons honed their powers from childhood, how they trained relentlessly to master their bloodlines. He was leagues behind them, but he was determined to catch up. There was still a week before classes officially began—a window of time he couldn't afford to waste.

But there was another, more immediate problem: Zepharion.

Aiden glanced back at the bed, where she still slept soundly. Her expression was serene, but he couldn't forget the despair he'd felt radiating from her when their bond had been forged. The spell that bound them as master and slave was a cruel and unyielding thing, and Aiden couldn't shake the memory of the hopelessness in her eyes.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. What am I supposed to do with her?

It wasn't just her gloomy demeanor or the way she'd resigned herself to being a doll-like servant. It was the weight of her presence, the constant reminder of what he'd done to her. He'd stripped her of her power, her pride, her very identity. And now, she seemed content to follow his every command without question.

"Zepharion," Aiden called softly, his voice hesitant.

Her crimson eyes opened slowly, meeting his gaze. For a moment, there was a flicker of life in them, but it quickly faded, replaced by her usual stoic expression. She sat up, she has that beautiful glistering tan skin and tall protruding thin horns and goat ears. She has golden hair cascading around her, her shirtless torso a reminder of how little she cared for appearances anymore.

"Good morning, Master," she said, her tone devoid of emotion.

Aiden winced. He hated when she called him that, but correcting her felt pointless. Instead, he gestured toward the bathroom. "Go take a bath and... fix yourself up. Wear your clothes properly this time."

Zepharion nodded silently and rose from the bed, moving with an eerie grace. Aiden watched her retreating figure, his headache growing worse by the second.

She's like a ghost, he thought. A shadow of who she used to be. And it's all my fault.

As much as he wanted to help her, he had no idea where to start. Zepharion's sense of purpose had been obliterated, and Aiden knew all too well what that felt like. He'd been in a similar place once—after his mother's death, when he'd lost all motivation to move forward. But how was he supposed to help someone like her, someone who'd been so completely broken?

And then there's Seraphina, he thought, his mind drifting to the human princess. He hadn't seen her since their brief conversation in the lounge, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. Was she safe? Were the demons treating her well? Or was she suffering, just like he had when he first arrived in Hell?

As Aiden sat alone, his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to an uncomfortable truth he had been avoiding. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He hated admitting it—even to himself—but he was heavily biased toward beautiful women.

The realization gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn't an easy thing to confront about himself, but the evidence was glaring. Seraphina—fragile, radiant, and undeniably beautiful—had been someone he had gone out of his way to protect. Even now, he worried about her safety, imagining the worst possible fates that could have befallen her in Hell.

Then there was Zepharion. If he was being honest, the only reason he had begun to care about her was the transformation. The proud, arrogant, and intimidating figure she had been as a man had hardly drawn his sympathy. But as soon as she had been cursed into a woman's body, something had shifted. Suddenly, he couldn't stop thinking about her despair, her broken spirit, and the immense humiliation she was enduring.

He rubbed his temples, frustration bubbling inside him. "What kind of person does that make me?" he muttered under his breath.

The truth stung. If Zepharion had remained a man, would he have felt this guilt? This drive to help? Or would he have simply left her to stew in her despair, writing her off as another enemy or a threat? The answer was too close for comfort.

Aiden clenched his fists, trying to push away the rising tide of shame. He wasn't proud of it, but it was there, undeniable. This bias of his—it wasn't something he had ever consciously acted on before, but in Hell, where every decision carried weight, it had become glaringly obvious.

"Digging my own grave," he whispered again, shaking his head.

Both Seraphina and Zepharion were trapped in their own versions of despair, and Aiden felt powerless to save either of them. He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep dragging people into my mess without knowing how to fix it.

When Zepharion returned, dressed and presentable, she stood silently by the door, waiting for his next command. Aiden looked at her, the weight of her obedience pressing down on him like a physical force.

"Zepharion," he said quietly, "what do you want to do today?"

She blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "I don't understand, Master."

"What do you want?" he repeated, his voice firmer this time. "Not what I want. Not what the spell forces you to do. What do you want? Anything besides wanting me to end your life"

For a moment, she looked almost human. Her crimson eyes flickered with something—confusion, hesitation, maybe even a spark of hope. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and she shook her head.

"I don't... have any wants," she said softly. "My purpose is to serve you. That is all."

Aiden's heart sank. He rubbed his temples, the headache pounding relentlessly. "This is impossible," he muttered under his breath.

His thoughts turned to Zepharion's family. They were warriors, renowned for their strength and discipline. If he could learn from her—if she could teach him to harness the bloodline abilities he'd stolen—maybe he'd stand a chance.

When Zepharion returned, her damp hair clinging to her face and a fresh shirt draped over her slender frame, Aiden stood to face her.

"Zepharion," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I need your help."

Her eyes flickered with the faintest hint of confusion.

"I need to learn how to use my bloodline abilities," he continued. "You come from a family of warriors. You've trained your whole life. Teach me. Help me understand how to use what I've taken from you."

Zepharion stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded. "As you command, Master."

The title made him flinch, but he didn't correct her. He didn't have the energy to argue.

He needed a plan, a way to navigate this mess he'd found himself in. Training would help him survive in this world, but survival wasn't enough. He had to find a way to help Zepharion regain her sense of self, to ensure Seraphina's safety, and to carve out a place for himself in this brutal, chaotic world.

But for now, all he could do was take it one step at a time.

"Come on, Zepharion," he said, grabbing his coat. "We've got a lot to figure out, and sitting around won't solve anything."

She followed him without question, her expression as blank as ever. And as they stepped out into the dimly lit room, Aiden couldn't help but feel like he was dragging not just one, but two lives along with his own.

I don't know what I'm doing, he thought. But I have to try.