Welcome To The Academy, Struggler

EL RITCH

The boy's breath misted as he stepped into the morning's biting chill, the cold gnawing through his clothes until he hurried back into the hut. There, the warmth of the hot spring beckoned him. El Ritch stripped himself of his thin beast's coat and plunged into the steaming waters, feeling the heat chase the frost from his bones. 

The witch claimed it was mere chance that such a spring existed in her garden, yet he knew better now. After all these days spent in her company, he had come to read her character like an open tome, even if she kept it half-shut. She would never admit to her care, but her actions betrayed her—each spell and charm she wove was a gesture she'd deny as kindness.

When he emerged and dressed, he noticed the coat again. It was lighter than the fur-lined one Zana and Flower had given him, yet warmer. A touch of the witch's trickery, he thought. The seams bore no obvious enchantments, but he'd learned to trust her craft without questioning its workings.

At the table, the smoked slab of meat awaited him, still gleaming from the night's slow preparation. Fruits and vegetables were laid beside it, their arrangement lacking the artistry of Zana's hand but matching her flavors all the same. As he ate alone in the garden, his eyes strayed to the witch, hunched over her crafting table, her focus unbroken.

He finished his meal and left the plate as it was. That was their unspoken routine. Neither he nor the witch spoke of it, but the plates would always be clean upon their return. Whether by unseen hands or some quiet magic, it was a mystery he did not question. 

The skeletal branches overhead swayed as the sun's rays stretched through them, dappling the ground with shadows that danced across the garden. The day had begun in earnest, and it was time to depart. 

"Time to go, boy," the witch called, emerging from the hut with a bundle of trinkets clutched in her hands. She began stringing them around his neck—a glittering necklace of stones, a tooth, and a carved pendant of peculiar design. El Ritch picked at them, his brows furrowing. "What—what is all this for?" he asked.

Her response came sharp, laced with dry amusement. "Too fine for you, are they?" She raised her brow and smirked faintly. "Well, you're going to the Academy of Hornet. I can't have you looking plain. People will think poorly of me. Just an old witch, they'll say. Not that you'd care. Go without them, if you must."

El Ritch grinned, catching her jest. "Thank you," he said. "After Doctor Adeline and Uncle Aldric, I think I like you the most." His statement genuine.

For a moment, her face turned to stone, her eyes fixed on him as if measuring his worth anew. Then she snapped. "Third place?" Her voice rose with indignation, but her lips betrayed her in their twitching. "After all I've done for you? Third, is it? You've grown bold, boy. I ought to teach you a lesson when you return." 

She strode through the garden with swift steps, opening the barricade without so much as a glance back. El Ritch hurried to follow, shutting it behind him as they made their way down the path. 

The walk to the academy felt shorter this time, their pace brisk. The gates came into view within half an hour, looming tall and solid, the guards stationed at either side giving way without question. Inside, they were met by the chief himself, Julian. 

Julian was young, or at least he seemed so—a man in the prime of his twenties, though his words carried the weight of centuries. "Ah, the boy arrives. I've awaited you since the dawn of Keidar's age," he said, his voice rich with mirth.

El Ritch blinked in confusion. "Uh… Sorry, Chief?"

"Pay it no mind," Julian replied with a laugh. "An old tongue from an old man." 

The witch stood beside him, her gaze sharp as she addressed Julian. "I leave him to you now," she said. 

Julian nodded, his thumb raising in a gesture of assurance. The gates creaked closed behind them, and as they did, El Ritch glanced back. Through the small closing, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the witch's face. Her eyes shimmered, betraying a flicker of something unspoken, her lips trembling ever so slightly before she turned away. 

"Let us march to the place that will mend you into a hunter, aye?" Julian's voice brimmed with energy as he strode forward, his horned shadow stretching long in the morning light. El Ritch followed, his steps hesitant but steady, taking in the peculiar sights of the town that surrounded the Academy of Hornet.

The streets were alive, though in a way that felt quieter than the restless night, he had been there. Shops with open fronts spilled their wares onto cobbled paths, vivid displays of cured meats, glimmering trinkets, and exotic herbs drawing the eyes of passing customers. Smoke rose in lazy spirals from clay chimneys atop narrow houses, the roofs crooked but sturdy. Children played a skipping game near a fountain carved into the likeness of a horned beast, their laughter mingling with the clatter of hooves as merchants carted goods toward the market. 

El Ritch noticed the people—tall and lithe, their horns rising proudly from their foreheads in shapes that twisted like gnarled branches or arched like crescent moons. Yet Julian's horns, protruding sharply, were the only ones visible here. The rest wore hoods, their horns tucked beneath thick cloth wraps. He felt a question rise in his throat but left it unspoken. 

They turned left, passing the markets. Vendors waved eagerly at Julian, their voices rising above the hum of the crowd. "Chief Julian! Fresh bread for the morning?" a woman called, holding a loaf aloft. Another, older man beckoned with a bowl of steaming broth, its fragrant spices wafting through the air. Julian refused them all with a polite smile, his stride unbroken. 

The walk stretched long, weaving past huts painted in earthy tones and adorned with hanging charms that swayed gently in the breeze. Finally, the Academy loomed into view—a sprawling compound of stone and wood nestled at the edge of the settlement. Its appearance was unassuming, almost blending with the surrounding market and homes. 

The grounds were ringed by a low stone wall, half-hidden by creeping ivy. Students milled about the entrance, their voices a soft murmur against the crisp air. The main building rose at the center, its roof steeply pitched and patched with mismatched tiles, its windows narrow slits that gleamed faintly in the sun. Around it were smaller structures—huts for lodging, training rings filled with worn equipment, and open courtyards where a few early risers were already practicing drills. 

"This is where I leave you," Julian said with a groan, stretching his back like a man carrying burdens he refused to name. 

El Ritch's stomach tightened. "Wait! She said you'd teach me about the Academy. The rules! Yes, the rules! What should I—" 

But Julian cut him off with the same feigned innocence the witch often wore, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Rules? How would I know? I'm no hunter. Go inside and find out for yourself." 

Before El Ritch could protest further, Julian gave him a firm push. The gates creaked open, and the crowd swallowed him whole. Students, dozens of them, swarmed the courtyard, their chatter filling the air like the buzz of a hive. El Ritch turned to look for Julian, but the chief had already vanished into the throng, his horned silhouette lost amid the bustle. 

"Shit..." El Ritch muttered under his breath—the only curse word he had learned thus far—as he stepped forward into the unknown.