The sun had little risen when Azrael awoke from bed; the pallid shine of morning light passing through the high windows of his room.
Outside, leaves whispered softly in the dawn wind-an assuaging serenade, a reminder that all of his twenty years had been spent within sanctuary.
He slowly got up, stretching his arms above his head as the cover fell to the floor. His room was simple yet elegant: lined with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, a great oak desk covered in parchment, and a sword mounted on the wall-for his unique training.
Lining the walls were runes that glittered in the dim light, a spell of protection cast by the sisterhood to keep him safe.
Azrael padded softly across the cool stone floor to the mirror, his bare feet silent. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean-framed, years of hard training etched in every line of his body.
His skin was smooth, muscles toned but not overbulgy, just this perfect balance between strength and agility.
But what really got to him was the jet-black spiky hair that refused to obey the laws of gravity-a wild crown framing his sharp, chiseled face. His eyes were deep and gray as a stormy sea, with a spark of curiosity and mischief that never went out.
He stared at his reflection, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Big day ahead," he said, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I have so many classes today!"
He turned from the mirror and approached a small cabinet where a crystal vial was kept. He uncorked it, and a faint minty aroma wafted out.
Cleanse was a water magic that one used instead for hygiene. He poured some into his mouth-cool, tingling, reaching all corners. Let it stay for two minutes and let the spell do its charm. In an instant, his teeth were already clean, and his breath was fresh, like a breeze coming from the mountaintop.
"Perfect," he whispered, wiping with the back of his hand across his mouth.
Azrael yanked his shirt off, snatched up a towel and wrapped it around his hips as he strode across the room to the bath chamber and reached for the ornate brass handle, turning it. Nothing came out. He let out a sigh, placing his hands on his hips.
"Damned if it isn't clogged again?" he growled, frowning. "Looks like it's the common baths for me.
He gathered his toiletries and stepped out into the hall. The mansion was alive with the hum of members carrying on with their daily tasks.
He was the only male in the entire academy-a distinction that earned him respect and curiosity, yet also a certain isolation.
A young sister, burdened with a bundle of scrolls, stopped as he passed, her eyes wide. "Good morrow, Azrael!" she blurted, near dropping her load.
He smiled kindly. "Good morrow, Saria."
Another pair of sisters whispering in the corner came to an abrupt halt in their conversation to watch him pass by, their faces going bright red. He nodded toward them, and they turned abruptly, tittering.
Years among them had done little for that curious blend of fascination and nervousness that danced within their gazes, and he had grown used to it; the staring never became less awkward.
Finally, he reached the large wooden door to the common bathing hall. He heard voices inside: laughter, the chatter of easy talk, unmistakable hums of sisterly camaraderie. He paused a while outside the door, the better to ready himself.
"Alright, Azrael," he whispered. "You can do this. In and out. Quick and easy."
He pushed open the door and stepped into the steamy warmth of the room. The floors of stone were slick with moisture; the air was heavy with the scent of lavender and citrus. All conversations stopped dead as every pair of eyes swung to him.
The silence was deafening.
He felt their gaze upon him, but nothing fazed him; with measured, confident steps, he moved towards a vacant shower stall. Murmurs he could hear were behind him; curious eyes followed every move he made.
He was at the stall, hooked the towel, and turned the handle. This time, water came down in a warm, soothing stream. He closed his eyes to let it wash over him, hoping the tension in the room would dissolve like the steam rising around him.
"How hotter can today get? A hot make taking a hot shower with a perfect ass." One of the girls said, jestingly.
"Oh spare the poor guy now! Let him take his shower!" Another responded.
Azrael turned around and stared at all of them ladies and they could help but stare back having a perfect glance at his Knight.
"Who you calling a poor guy?" He asked as he stroked he cock from the very edge to the tippy tip.