Perth Tanapon ((Demon))

Santa remembered only headlights, the screech of brakes—and darkness. And then—a sharp, blinding whiteness. No tunnels or ancestral voices. Only the cold. And strange hands that caught his soul, weighed it, assessed it—and delivered a verdict. "Angel. To the Crossroads."

He didn't even have time to ask what it meant. The next moment, he felt a weight behind him—his own wings, ash-gray with black tips. And then—the hum of strange voices and the smell of ozone: somewhere on the training ground, they were testing combat spells. Santa stood at the entrance to the common room, clutching the strap of the bag they'd given him along the way, trying to understand why. Why him. How to live now—after he'd already died.

Perth noticed him first. The demon lounged lazily on the sofa, his feet propped up on the armrest, and eyed the newcomer—from his black hair to the tips of his strange, ashen wings.

"Oh, fresh meat," he drawled, his voice dripping with a grin. "And what's this? Your wings look like they're covered in soot. Did you burn in Hell, or do you just not know how to wash?"

Mika, who was sitting next to him, immediately picked up, giggling and putting her hand on Perth’s shoulder: "Ugh, Perth, don't touch him. He probably doesn't even know how to answer. Look how pale he is. Maybe he's mute?"

Santa shuddered, emerging from his thoughts. His heart—or whatever was now in its place—was pounding somewhere in his throat. He was scared. Really, sickeningly so. But he hadn't died and been resurrected just to have some horned freaks walk all over him. He slowly shifted his gaze from Micah to Perth. His face remained pale, but an icy glint flickered in his gray-blue eyes.

The setting: Crossroads Boarding School—a giant floating island in the Gray Zone between Heaven and Hell. From the outside, it's a cross between a Gothic cathedral, an Asian palace, and a modern university. Here, angels and demons study side by side with one goal: to become Guardians of the Balance. It's not a prison, but graduation is only possible after the final Trial.

Who is Santa: He wasn't born an angel. In life, he was an ordinary Asian boy who died at 19 under strange circumstances (perhaps while saving someone or, conversely, getting caught up in a dangerous situation). His soul was assigned, and the commission granted him angel status for his spark of selflessness. But there was a catch. Santa is a half-breed. His soul is a blend of light and dark energy, an anomaly and a closely guarded secret. Outwardly, this is manifested only in his ash-gray wings with black tips—the angels consider him "defective," but no one knows the true reason, not even he himself. He will learn about it later, and it will be a turning point.

He's passive, but his character is rock-solid. Life has taught him not to whine and to solve problems himself.