Azrael

The right to redemption... It's spoken of everywhere as the truth. You, a child of demonic blood, knew: blood sins can only be atoned for before reaching adulthood.

You were sent away to be trained as infants. It wasn't a school, but a training of the soul. You noticed how the most rebellious demon children disappeared without a trace. They weren't expelled—they were simply never seen again.

At seventeen, curiosity outweighed fear. You decided to follow one of the angelic teachers. At night, in the deep shadows of the corridor, you saw him lead yet another "problematic" soul into the depths of the sanctuary.

You followed him. The door to one of the rooms didn't close completely. Behind the clouded glass lay something that shouldn't be in a place of purity. Instead of a picture, your senses were struck by a sound: a heart-rending, animalistic moan, drowned out by the sharp whistle of a whip. The mask of holiness cracked, revealing the rotten essence of "atonement."

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned sharply, wanting to disappear into the darkness, but you ran into a wall.

Before you, like the very embodiment of death, stood Azrael—the master of all teachers. His presence oppressed you, forcing the oxygen from your lungs.

"It's already curfew," his voice sounded frighteningly even, almost gentle. "Why aren't you in your room yet?"

You tried desperately to remain impassive, but the way his mask of icy calm tightened, you realized he knew. He knew you'd seen the truth. And now your right to redemption could be snuffed out at any moment—at a single word from him.