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"This is Origins Class 521"

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"YOU HAVE HANDS of steel," Claire dragged, looking at me in disbelief, "honestly! My butt still hurts," she winced, glancing at her behind as we walked, a frown wedged on her face.

It was a normal reaction to being spanked, but also an exaggeration. I knew this because, whenever I shook hands with a person, they would almost always compliment how soft my hands were, so much so, that Dad had opted to cut me a small section of the Palace Gardens, to do a little gardening work, a small patch of white roses.

Mother's suggestion.

As the thought of my mother crossed my mind I frowned, wondering if she was now awake. I would have to visit her soon. Even if it had only been a day, she was someone I had never spent a day without for as long as I could remember, besides, I was yet to find those white roses I promised.

"ZA, I said" Claire mumbled from beside me as we stood before a door. She reached out to pull it mindlessly, and "It was freaking Z. A. all along. We must have looked like morons," she huffed as she walked in.

Morons were a bit of a stretch in my opinion I settled with zombies. Following after her, I couldn't help but wonder how on earth she could still be thinking about the incident from earlier, honestly, I had already labeled it as 'things that never happened' and pushed it to the back of my head.

I bumped into her frozen figure stepping back a little dazed at the hit, concern washing over me, wondering why she had frozen yet again. I was almost afraid to look up, hoping I was not met with the same Atlantic eyes, but it was much worse.

Much, much worse.

All shades of eyes were on us.

We stood there speechless before the doorway as the other students took us all in. A large man was seated on the huge oak desk, his dark brown eyes settled on us.

"I guess this is the right cycle after all," he mumbled, with a grin spread on his face, as his gaze lingered on our frozen figures.

He had an Irish accent, his beards and hair were brown, sprinkled with a gentle grey, his eyes seemed to be focused on me, and I hoped, truly hoped, we were in the right class.

"Welcome to Origins Class ladies, please take your seat."

We didn't need to be told twice, we quickly moved to the two empty seats placed side by side in the middle of the class. As a latecomer, it was practical we would get the absolute worst seats in the classroom. From the miniature inspection I took as we walked in, we were quite a few, I would round off to at most, twenty. I felt exposed in my open seat at the very heart of the class.

I had originally hoped to get a seat by the wall if we had arrived early as that might have eased the nervousness that was building inside but alas, it was not to be.

Tugging at my sleeve, I looked up, only to be locked in the brown orbs of what I assumed was the teacher, he stayed on me momentarily and I could help but feel like I had seen him before, somewhere but I couldn't put a pin on it. He moved on, doing a sweep of the classroom.

"As I was saying," he began, his tone gentle as he looked at each one of us, "It appears once again it is my turn to host Origins class. I originally thought, blast it!" he yelled, fists banging the desk. A few chuckles rose from around me after he said this.

"But now," he began his soft eyes seeming to be staring right at me, "I believe this class has more to offer."

My eyebrows hunched at these words, wondering why it felt like he was talking to me. He reached across his desk pulling a small black crutch that was leaning against it, taking hold of it as he stood up. I watched him hobble towards the blackboard taking out a piece of chalk.

"This is Origins Class 521," he said whilst jotting it down on the board, he turned, leaning on his crutch, "Do me a favor kiddos. Take out your schedules and double-check you're in the right class. I believe there's too many of you."

The students chuckled yet again at his blatant joke as we all pulled out our schedules. Some were folded, some crumpled, some scrunched, wet, and even half-ripped schedules.

It appears I was in the right class.

"If you look closer, "he continued, "You will see it's the only class you have this week, and it is a dang long one. I may fall asleep, forgive me," he continued as I inspected my schedule noticing that indeed, all periods of the day wrote ZA Origins Class, "I am quite old."

I looked up at the sound of chalk scraping on a board, watching his elegant letters take form. I was a girl that knew a lot about penmanship but he was ridiculously neat, even if his hands looked rough, like a man who worked in the fields all day or in the factory.

Ogun Ogustus

He wrote.

He looked back at the class,

"That is my name, pronounced similarly to Logan, if the L was silent and Augustus, if the Au took a leap off the balcony and let O lead for once," he muttered while grinning.

"Therefore, you have it, Ogun Ogustus. To you, however-" he paused, gaze sweeping the class, "It is Mr. Ogustus."

He nodded as a small smile crept onto my features. I hoped I would like my first public school teacher as I have particularly disliked most of my private tutors, and I was happy to say, he was very likable. Which was good, since it seemed we would be spending a lot of time with him this week. He also seemed to baffle me in more ways than one. There was something he was hiding with that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Mr. Ogustus was a giant of a man, despite his age, his muscles clearly showed out of his smart grey long-sleeved shirt, it almost seemed unbelievable he walked using a crutch when he seemed very fit, defined, and healthy.

He hobbled toward the desk, lifting a tray, and hobbling back toward us he talked, a crutch in one hand and the tray in the other.

"I believe by now, all of you are aware of the color that sits below your name, on your name tags," he announced and I spotted a few students, including Claire glance down at it, "in my hand is a tray filled with bands, please pick one, according to your color," he began at the front, moving row by row.

He pulled the tray down in front of me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I glanced down into the tray, picking out a red one.

"Ah, first red of the day," he commented with a wink.

He moved on until the rest of the class had picked theirs before moving back to the front of the class. His pace was steady and true until he reached the front of the class. He got his chalk moving to write something on the board. I watched all this attentively, realizing he was jotting down the names of colors.

Red, yellow, white, green, blue, orange, and black.

He turned, still by the board as he talked.

"These are the colors each has picked accordingly," he spoke, posh and politely with a slight nod,

"These are the colors of Kingsland. The colors that make Kingsland, define it. Red, Yellow, Gold, Green, Blue, Orange, and Silver. Representatives of your various dilects."

He paused turning around,

"Red" he began, eyes settled on each of us, "are those that have mystic forces in their blood. Those that have curses wedged onto their bones. They, have decided to defy science and leave those of the outside world baffled."

He turned around hitting a word besides red, one I couldn't see as his huge frame was preventing such action.

"I call these bunch of hooligans magicians," he put bluntly, revealing the word, besides red.

We listened to him attentively,

"Yellows are the creepy ones, you've got to watch out for those little warts," he paused eyes hovering over one boy who in turn chuckled a little, his elbows on the table.

"The little mind readers will squeal about anything. Secrets are really hard to keep amongst you yellows, I call you Megamind's," he huffed noticing the word beside yellow.

"Gold," he continued, "such rays of sunshine. "

He grinned as he moved on to the next color.

"Until of course they foresee a loved one's death, or their own then it's just nightmares and demons to be damned."

The class was quiet as he kept up his explanation. I was glad I wasn't classified as white.

"We got our blues," Mr. Ogustus moved on without further thought on the previous color, " which I will just shorten to brainiacs or nerds' whichever tickles your pickle," his hand gestured in the air as he talked.

"Those bastards really can't have a normal conversation without making you feel like you didn't get a master's degree in history, "he frowned, his eyes lingering above our heads, "for that, we shall move on to the greens."

He stopped at this, hands behind his back.

" Greens are, let's just put out there, the so-called freaks. The abnormalities of the human world and the ultimate gifts to the paranormal."

He paused as if thinking it over for a second before moving on.

"Orange- Elements and Energies. These little suckers can sweep you right off your feet and don't believe for the slightest moment I'm leaning toward the ways of Shakespeare. It is now I move to Silver, our winged friends, let's just say they stay high, all the time."

A bunch of chuckles rose from the class as Mr. Ogustus took a step back examining his work.

Red- Magicians

Yellow- Megamind's

Gold- Seers

Blue- Brainiacs / Nerds

Green- Freaks

Orange- Benders

Silver -Lifts

"Seven colors, seven gifts," He stated.

His eyes trailed over the board, a soft silence befalling the class. He moved to the front of the desk, leaning against it, taking off his crutch.

"During this week, Origins class 521, will visit each color. It is important you know why you are given those colors and it is more important to know where you belong in this cycle."

He folded his buff arms.

"If you have not yet worn your bands, I simply wish to ask..." he trailed off shrugging, "What are you waiting for?"

We all chuckled at this as I lifted my red band. It seemed like a thick elastic. Slipping it on my wrist, my eyes widened when it suddenly clamped around it, tightening its hold. No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn't get it off.

"Unless you wish to wake up in the middle of the night, butt naked, or have your thoughts vandalized by uncivilized yellows, you would want to keep your bands on."

When he said this my gaze moved up to him, trapped in his stare.

"They are for your protection," he added, still in eye contact, he moved away taking in the rest of the class, who had also stopped fiddling with their bands.

"They are conjured by protective magic and will help you against fellow Convert abilities," he continued to explain.

He paused trailing his gaze across the room in a slightly more serious tone.

"Do not, however, think they'll protect your still fragile forms from every little thing. Those dangly things on your wrists are not gods. For instance, don't go pissing off a Green. You would be surprised how crashing into a wall twenty feet away is significantly avoidable. Or go sizing up a Silver and think you won't be dropped from 2000 feet. Speaking, these bands are for mental protection. Please avoid being trapped in dimensional spaces, fishing you out may prove rather difficult."

I gulped at this, wondering what I got myself into as I stared at my red band. I only looked up when Mr. Ogustus began to teach.

"Origins," he began, "the beginnings."

I watched his every movement, noticing how far yet near he looked. Like he could see what he was saying in his mind.

"This class talks about your Origins, origins that define Kingsland's." He hobbled back to the board.

"Kingsland is older than any of you, older than your parents, your grandparents, their parents, and so on. When I speak of Kingsland, I do not speak of the buildings you see now, Kingsland is more than that," he moved along the length of the board as he talked.

"It is an association, a pact that has been for generations and generations. Most of you believe Kingsland was created after The Conversion. I do not blame you. It is what you were led to believe. Then again, most of you believe the conversion only occurred once in history, and once again, I do not blame you," he paused as if letting it all sink in.

I needed to let it sink in.

The more he talked the more complicated issues seemed to be, and now he was speaking of the conversion happening yet again, through the course of history, I found it extremely hard to believe on my part.

"Kingsland was first started by the ancient Greeks in association with other races. It was a home for what you now call Converts, and what they called ..." he trailed off jotting something on the board

"Heroes."

All eyes were now focused on him like a hawk if they weren't before

"And the most famous heroes of all time, they called, you call, Hercules," He moved to the board jotting down his name.

I looked down at my hands, wondering if they would disappear in the next second. This definitely couldn't be true. The prestigious Hercules...was a Convert? No... I mean, he was a demi-god, born from Zeus and human. I loved Greek mythology. Dad loved to read stories to me when I was little.

"History is a funny word," Mr. Ogustus continued, sitting on the desk, "the truth is, history always has a limit. You can believe history from a hundred years ago because by then, humans had evolved well enough to correctly document all that was occurring. History from a thousand years ago has been driven to myth, mixed with speculations and assumptions." He clenched his jaw for a moment sighing as if he was sad about it.

"Can anyone tell me the origin of Hercules?"

A brown-haired boy immediately shot his hand up,

"Yes," Mr. Ogustus replied, folding his arms, his gaze latched onto the boy.

"Hercules was the son of Zeus, the god of the sky, lightning, thunder, law, order, and justice," he paused his voice lower, "and a human woman he uh.... fornicated with." He blurted out laced in a Spanish accent.

Giggles surfaced through the room.

"What is the origin of Zeus?" Mr. Ogustus asked, still focused on the boy.

"Uh...he was the son of Titans Cronus and Rhea,"

There was a slight pause.

"What is the origin of the Titans?"

"It is said they come from Gaea and her son, the sky Uranus, whom she took as her husband and created the twelve Titans. Gaea was born out of Chaos."

"And Chaos?"

The boy was silent.

"You're a Blue, isn't that right David," Mr. Ogustus replied with his arms folded, a lingering smirk on his features.

The boy who was supposedly named David's mouth dropped.

"You Blues aren't the only ones who know a considerable amount," He paused with a slight chuckle, his eyes hovering "Man's mind is a specimen even I am yet to fully comprehend."

We watched him curiously as he positioned himself more comfortably.

"What if I told you each religion has a piece of the truth? Each myth in history is a piece of a puzzle to a much, much greater truth. What if I said..." he trailed off, his hands falling to his knees, "Your human minds only conceive what is said to be known as normal, normal because what is unnatural is incomprehensible?"

He paused, standing up, with his crutch in hand, a mischievous smile on his face.

"I shall tell you a story of another beginning, another origin story of gods that may be similar to the ones spoken of in your different religions." He moved on, his gaze never fazing, "If you believe, if you disagree, if you scoff, if you gain, if you think yourself to be deceived, I shall repeat my previous statement. What if each religion perceives only a portion of the truth?"

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