Everything had fallen apart in Allen’s life since he had met the Witch. He wanted to blame and resent her for all of his misfortune, as she was the only person that remained physically present to account for his grandfather’s death. All of the inconclusive answers he had received until now and his own disturbed memories swirled within his mind, forming murky pools in his muddled thoughts.
After the hellish howl had ceased within the prison, a deathly silence had fallen over the cell. Waiting a few apprehensive moments, the old mage finally emerged once more. Announcing, after some struggle, that the werewolf was dead. Obliterated by a precautionary condition of the hex the creature perished abruptly, any clues towards the caster’s identity dying along with it.
After this report of the werewolf’s demise. They left the Alliance holdings, with Rika and Chief Guard Brunes accompanied the despondent Allen back to the upper levels. Listlessly he had wandered behind them for a considerable distance, before Chief Brunes suggested he take a room in the trainee dorms for the night.
In no condition to argue, Allen accepted. Unable to take in their surroundings Allen only recalled being ushered into a simple room. Laying on a squeaky cot abandoned in its corner, then vacantly staring at the wooden boards of the ceiling for an unknown amount of time. Until, finally, his body relented from exhaustion. Entering at last, into a deep sleep.
***
A knock awoke Allen from his slumber.
Two weeks had passed since he had entered the Alliance. Reluctant to return to the farm after the events that had transpired there and curious towards his grandfather’s past, Allen had been persuaded to stay on as a Hunter in the trainee. Long days occupied with rigorous training sessions and procedural lessons, prohibited him from learning more of the Witch since. Let alone tracking her down in the vast labyrinth that was the Alliance headquarters.
Protesting with spasms of aches and pains, his body adamantly rejected its sudden removal from bed as the knocking persisted. Only five hours since their supplementary weaponry drills ended, Allen stretched groggily trying to coax his muscles into movement yet again.
Attempting to pull a shirt on sorely. The person outside, who had grown impatient, swung open the door briskly. Stomping into the room the intruder said loudly, “What’s taking you so long man?”
Tall and lean, Tristan Hurst was a Hunter trainee along with Allen. Both legacies, they had been thrown into classes together immediately. The constant comparison received from their fellows and the expectations of seniors, had led the two recruits to inevitably be pitted against each other. Although perceived as natural rivals among the trainees and instructors. Tristan, who received the inherited teachings of his Hunter parents and possessed prior knowledge of the Alliance, had taken pity on Allen. Endeavoring to educate him on the organization’s inner workings at every turn, the two had come to be on good terms.
“Don’t just come into someone’s room like that!” Allen scolded, clumsily catching the pair of boots Tristan tossed at him from beside the door.
“I’m tired of your face too dude, but if we don’t get down there early those tanks from the third division will eat everything again.” Tristan complained, already on his way out.
Shoes tied haphazardly and hair sticking to the side of his face. Allen hurried after Tristan along the corridors of the trainee dorms. Entering into the canteen, both sat still breathing heavily. Most still dreaming happily in their beds at this hour, they had no problem finding a place on one of the benches lining the substantial oak dining tables. Their plates piled high with food in front of them, the two men began to eat exchanging few words between them.
“Um, excuse me.” Said a meek voice, “Is this seat taken?”
The Hunters looked to see a woman with glasses and mousey blonde hair framing her plump round face fidgeting uncomfortably opposite them.
“Not at all.” Allen replied with an accommodating smile “Please have a seat.”
Sitting on the bench, her wide eyes peered at them coyly from behind circular gold framed glasses, almost too big for her face. “I’m Allen,” he said extending a hand towards her, “and the one inhaling his food is Tristan.”
Receiving his greeting, she shook it softly “Oh, my name is Morose.” She answered, her cheeks turning faintly rosy hue. “I’m a Day Gate trainee.”
Unlike the buildings that housed full order Guardians, trainees were made to share the same dorms and facilities. This arrangement was held until the day came that they were officially accepted by a Gate. Reasons for this were mostly due to hierarchical traditions of not mixing higher ranking members with those whom had not yet proven their worth.
However, it also held a practical element. Since it was common practice to form partnerships with persons from other Gates to complete future missions, this shared space prepared them for this by allowing them to be better acquainted.
“One of those magic types, huh.” Tristan remarked between bites, “Must be nice to just point and zap things away.” He said, illustrating his words with a flick of his fork in the air.
Morose laughed uncomfortably, clearly embarrassed by Tristan’s uncouth manners. “W-Well it’s a little more complicated than that.” She replied, nibbling at a small piece of bread she tore from a slice of toast. “I s-still have to learn s-spells.”
“How about hexes?” Allen asked. The words had escaped him before he had even realized it. Seeing the apparent look of alarm dash across her features, Allen felt instantly remorseful at having uttered the question. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” Apologizing as quickly as he could manage in earnest, his speech spilled forth “I don’t really know much about magic and was curious is all, I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured by it.”
Morose, who had recovered some of her color, gave Allen a sympathetic smile. Seeming to understand that magic must be intriguing for those who had never used it, she decided to humor them. Bending forward across the wide table, she lowered her soft voice to a secretive whisper.
“H-hexes are dark magic.” Morose explained, “It’s illegal for elemental w-witches like me to use dark magic.”
“Really? What happens?” asked Tristan, now mopping up what remained of his breakfast with a piece of toast snagged from Allen’s plate.
Morose’s response was a single word, “B-banishment.”
Chiri yawned. Night patrol was not only a lengthy undertaking, it was tremendously dull. Serving time for her rogue actions, Chiri had walked the Alliance campus for weeks. Akin to a vengeful spirit she loitered its halls, lawns and perimeter throughout the darkest hours. During which time, the only highlights of note had been limited to a handful of tasks: including collecting snails from the grounds, moving equipment, and delivering notes to and from various persons.Leaning against the grey stone of the battlement, Chiri watched as the sun crept over the horizon. The rays of its ascent lit the trees far beyond the Ineset boundary. Their leaves taking on a warm glow, which hinted that the season’s eminent change was nearing. Rustled by a crisp breeze they swayed on the backdrop of a pink morning sky. Signaling that her duties were drawing to a close, she paused briefly to acknowledge the view.Completing a final lap of the perimeter wall, Chiri descended the ri
Finding the Witch at the center of another confrontation, Allen looked on in fascination.The first he had seen of her since entering the Alliance, her appearance was even more striking than recalled. The Witch’s long white hair, tussled by the night breeze, was messily scattered over her shoulders. Cascading all the way down to her waist it caught the soft morning light as it filtered through the tall windows. Her impassive expression remaining unchanged. The natural slant of her eyes and curved lips lending themselves to the constant suggestion of her cunning nature. Allen, although prejudice towards her, thought the Witch seemed less callous than before as she stood calmly facing them.Back turned toward her aggressor. She refused to regard an angry young man. A cautious distance, they were separated by almost 20-feet in the narrow corridor. The floors checked with large slabs of black and white marble. Scorched and cracked, they already bore evidence of
Chiri entered the foyer of Night Gate. Supported by gothic columns, the high ceiling arched upward like the hull of an overturned ship. Furnished extravagantly with sofas and chairs all upholstered in a deep royal purple. It lacked the natural light of the main building.Benefitting from a single west facing stained glass window. Its rounded frame dominated the space between two staircases. Hovering just above where they converged, their steps sloped onto the glossy black marble floor. Where, candles and glowing crystals cast a wavering light on its polished surface.Lacking the patience for another ill-timed encounter. Chiri was relieved to find the popular conjugation place to be presently unoccupied. Though, this was hardly surprising as the Night Gate had few early risers within its ranks. Her cells still scattered, she felt as though a million tiny ants were weaving their way in confused courses under her skin. Electrocution, while always
Chiri tapped on the door to Director's office lightly with the back of her hand. Receiving no reply, she entered without an answer.The empty leather desk chair he usually occupied left askew, papers and open books lying in wait for his return. Curtains drawn across the windows there was only the feeble light from a few sconces to outline their forlorn pages. Cazer's absence immediately apparent, Chiri skirted the room idly running a finger along the spines of a few books displayed.The room was square in shape. Wide on each side, it was able to accommodate floor to ceiling shelves, a sitting area, and the workspace. A parlor table and chairs were even provided to partake in simple meals to the left of the door. Stacked with reference books, this area was mostly wasted on Cazer. If he did eat, it was usually done so unceremoniously hunched over his desk out of necessity rather than enjoyment.Positioned to the right was a solid door connecting into a space
Chiri felt well rested. Cazer leaving shortly after she had fallen asleep to carry out his responsibilities as Director and no one had daring to enter the room without his express permission; she had been permitted to sleep the entirety of the day away in his bed completely undisturbed.Chiri and Cazer kept separate rooms, befitting of their statuses. Chiri sleeping in a room, which had formerly been a broom closet. She favored the floor over the lumpy mattress with aggressive springs that jutted into her sides on most occasions. Instead, it served as barrier against the draft from the narrow-slatted window. The mattress leant against the wall, like the misplaced half of a tent. Wrapped in a meager covering, Chiri would occupy the little space, between it and the cold stone wall.Due to these conditions, nights were usually filled with erratic spurts of sleep. Eventually, it was abandoned more often than not, to read whatever book was on loan to her from the Director&r
Chiri moaned. Lying in the mud body throbbing. Rain fell around her as she gazed up at the open window. Unable to prevent the girl’s immediate decent Chiri had lunged forward after her. Both engaged in a perilous free fall. Chiri extracted a blade. Hurling it to the ground below them with all her strength. It hit the earth well in advance of them. Grabbing on to an outstretched limb, she clung on to the other woman. Finally, is a desperate stroke of last-minute inspiration, Chiri managed to teleport them the rest of the distance. Rolling her head to the side Chiri regarded the blade beside them vacantly. Half-submerged in the mud less than an arm’s length from them. It had been pure luck they had avoided being impaled by it. Her eyes drifted over the smear of blood across the flat edge of its face. Although capable of using other forms of dark magic, Chiri had the unique advantage of a shortcut wherever blood magic was concerned. Without the need for incantations or
Early that morning, everything was as usual in the mess hall. Forced from his sleep by Tristan’s unapologetically abrupt wake-up call. Allen and Tristan arrived in the canteen earlier than most other Hunter recruits. Morning drills guaranteed Twilight Gate trainees to be among the first to rise in the dorms. Training often running well into the early afternoon for Hunters, it resulted in the first meal of the day becoming a riotous free for all. Allen had unfortunately learned this lesson the hard way in his initial week. After discovering the canteen practically stripped clean on multiple mornings; he had suffered through drills, sustained on less than a glass of juice. Occupying their customary corner of the canteen, Allen was sipping a second cup of coffee when Morose entered. Waving to her from across the room he signaled for her to join them. Spotting Allen’s gesture, she made her way towards the two men. Gingerly shuffling past a burly group of Hunters ensconce
There was hardly a sound within the deepest levels of The Alliance prison. Only the echo of expensive leather shoes as they progressed along the winding corridors. Their determined gate stopping once they reached a dead end.Met with a fortified door, Cazer scrutinized it momentarily. Before placing a hand on its cold metal. His palm against the near microscopic carved sigils, there was an aggravated grating grinding and turning of gears opening the metal locks. Followed by a rapid scramble of symbols as several seals were simultaneously dispersed. After the physical and magical obstacles that barred his entry were removed, Cazer entered the cell.Having the large hollow interior of a cave. It was lit by large jagged crystals jutting from the ground like stalagmites. There dismal light, barely strong enough to cast so much as a shadow, they seemed to exist solely to complement the oppressive atmosphere. The air was thick within the cell. Frigid, it chilled every exhala