Ella had woken early, slipping out of bed before the dormitory stirred. The air was cool, the faint scent of milk and honey soap as she made her way to the showers. The water was lukewarm, biting enough to wake her fully but not unpleasant. She let it run over her shoulders as she rubbed at the enchantment on her forearm.

  The tattoo-like marking, etched into her skin with magical precision, glowed faintly in the dim light. Three lines, stacked neatly.

  The first, a subtle red, shifted slightly as she watched it. It represented the time she had left to complete her daily duties as a Pillar. The minimal work required before she could earn the luxury of two full meals the next day.

  The second line, faint blue, marked her rest allowance. She was careful with this one. Exhausting it meant a gut-twisting burning pain along the veins, that would only fade after a visit to the disciplinary instructor. That visit, of course, came with an unavoidable punishment.

  The third line, darker than the rest and unwavering, always puzzled her as much as it did most Pillars. It never changed length, no matter the time of day or circumstance. Some joked it was decorative, others whispered darker theories. None had answers.

  She sighed, rinsing away the suds from her hair and stepping out and dried herself quickly before returning to the Pillar barracks.

  Inspection followed, a daily routine she could perform in her sleep. Her boots were polished, her armor strapped on with precision. By the time she left for patrol around the Academy grounds, the light was bright, and her second line had shortened noticeably.

  The Academy's long halls were quiet. The woman kept her steps light, her eyes scanning every corner of the vast stone corridors and outdoor courtyards. Her hand rested instinctively near the hilt of her dagger as she moved.

  Her ambient thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of children’s voices, high-pitched and frantic.

  She turned, her gaze locking onto a group of younger students gathered near the edge of the courtyard. Their cries echoed off the stone walls and the deep corridors.

  She approached them without hesitation, her boots thudding softly against the muddy floor.

  The children’s voices rose in a cacophony as Canella approached. They stood in a small circle, their faces flushed with the intensity of their argument.

  “Just saying, swords are the best!” a boy declared, his hands miming the sweeping arcs of an imaginary blade.

  “Wrong! Axes can cut through anything,” countered another, puffing out his chest.

  “You’re both dumb! Spears are superior!” a girl interjected, jabbing an invisible opponent with her pointed finger.

  Canella stepped closer. “What’s going on here?” she asked, her tone firm but not unkind.

  The children turned, momentarily startled, before launching into a chaotic explanation. Each one talked over the other, eager to prove their point about which weapon reigned supreme.

  Ella held up a hand, and the squabble quieted. “All right,” she began, crouching slightly to meet their eye level. “Do you want to know the truth about weapons?”

  They nodded eagerly, their youthful enthusiasm disarming.

  “Each weapon is great in its own way in capable hands,” she explained. “A sword or an axe can cut, a hammer can crush, and a spear can strike from a distance or be thrown. A good team should be versatile.”

  The children tilted their heads, considering her words. “But what about magic users?” one of them asked while another murmured “What is versatile?”.

  Canella smiled. “Magic or no magic, it’s the same. You train, you fight and do your best to stay alive.”

  They murmured among themselves, their quarrel forgotten. After a moment, one of them looked up. “Thanks, Pillar,” he said, a small grin on his face.

  “You’re welcome. Now, off with you before someone gets hurt pretending to swing an axe.”

  The children laughed and ran off, their voices fading as they disappeared around the corner.

  Ella stood and dusted off her gloves. Her patrol partner, leaning lazily against a pillar nearby, clapped slowly. “You’re wasting your breath,” he said. “That’s caretaker work, not ours.”

  She gave him a glance, but he continued before she could respond. “Besides, what do you know about weapons and strategy? You’re just a bow user. No magic. Party support till the end of days.”, he mocked.

  Ella felt the sting of his words, though she kept her expression neutral. “And you’re just a sword carrier,” she said flatly, moving past him.

  “Hey, at least I’m not stuck in the back rows,” he muttered under his breath, following her as they resumed their patrol.

  Their route took them past the classrooms, where muted voices and the sound of chalk on slate drifted through the doors. Ellla stopped abruptly. “Wait here,” she said, stepping into one of the rooms.

  Inside, the trap instructor was tidying up, his broom sweeping against the floor with rhythmic swishes. His face brightened the moment he saw her.

  “My little Canella!” he exclaimed, dropping the broom with a clatter and rushing toward her, his hands clasped near his chest.

  She bowed slightly, her tone respectful. “Instructor, you asked for me?”

  The older man chuckled. “Straightforward as ever, my best pupil, punctual.” He gestured toward a nearby desk, where a pouch and a stack of papers rested. “I need you to deliver these potions and documents to the headmaster today.”

  She nodded, her gaze flicking to the pouch.

  “And tomorrow,you’ll be heading outside the Academy to gather ingredients for me. I’ve already made the arrangements. You’ll begin before morning inspection.”

  Canella’s stomach hardened. She hadn’t set foot beyond the Academy walls since her graduation test, and the thought unsettled her. “Understood,” she replied, though her voice was quieter.

  The instructor picked up the pouch and handed it to her. “I packed some of your favorite cinnamon cookies,” he said with a wink.

  Ella accepted it with both hands, bowing again. “As you command,” she said before leaving the room.

  Outside, her patrol partner stood with his arms crossed, his expression skeptical.

  “I don’t get your relationship with that instructor,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s the trap instructor, for the headmaster’s sake! What do you gain from him? No reputation, no favors, no extra rest time. And he’s… well, odd. Probably only became an instructor because he wasn’t good enough for anything else.”

  He stopped abruptly, his gaze narrowing. The woman had already retrieved a cookie from the pouch and was munching contentedly.

  “What is that?” he asked, his stomach audibly rumbling.

  “This one,” Canella said, pointing to her mouth, “is called no reputation.” She held up the cookie in her hand. “And this one is no favors.”

  Then she smiled, holding the pouch close to her chest. “And I have some extra times in here for later. All mine.”

  Her partner stared at her, his mouth slightly open, as she continued walking, utterly content.

  The faint red line on Canella’s arm faded entirely, signaling the end of her patrol duties for the day. She rubbed at the spot absently, watching the line vanish as though it had never been there. It was already late, the soft hum of activity around the Academy signaling the time after classes. The first meal was approaching, but the patrol shift change came first.

  As Canella and her partner approached the barracks to shed their armor, two Pillars stepped out, their armor already gleaming. Their patrol shift change. The pair nodded in greeting but barely slowed, chatting as they walked past.

  “No meat again,” one of them muttered, loud enough for Canella to hear.

  “Why am I not surprised?” the other replied, shaking his head. “Same stew, same bread. I swear they’ve been serving that since last month.” Their voices faded as they moved out of earshot, heading toward the outer grounds..

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Canella and her partner entered the barracks, the atmosphere quiet except for the faint clink of armor as they undressed. Her colleague sighed in relief as he shrugged off his gear. “Finally,” he said, stretching his arms as he placed his sword and shield in the armory.

  Ella followed suit, carefully removing her cloak, quiver and bow before placing them in their designated spots.

  Once their gear was stored, her partner moved toward the exit, rubbing his hands together. “Off to the meal room,” he said with anticipation. “Finally some food, even if it’s that same bland stew.”

  Ella adjusted her gloves and glanced at him. “I have one last task to finish”.

  He paused at the door, giving her a skeptical look. “You’re gonna miss mealtime,” he said, a worried edge to his tone.

  Canella reached into her pouch and pulled out a cookie. Without a word, she held it aloft, letting the golden light catch its edges, before taking a slow, deliberate bite.

  Her partner’s expression shifted. “You…”

  She turned, throwing him a playful look over her shoulder. “See you later,” she said, her tone light, before walking away with a light jump on her steps.

  He muttered something under his breath but didn’t follow, heading instead toward the meal room.

  Still chewing her cookie, Ella made her way toward the headmaster’s chambers, her boots echoing softly against the stone floors.

  The walk through the quiet halls left her mind to wander. As she neared the door to the headmaster’s office, muffled voices drifted through the thick wood. She hesitated, straining to hear.

  “Almarin is still causing trouble,” one voice growled, low and heated.

  “How did he find out?” another snapped, followed by the sharp crash of something breaking.

  “She’s infected the Academy’s ideals,” a third voice, cooler but no less cutting, chimed in. “We should’ve tossed her out on her first day.”

  Ella’s heart pounded in her chest, yet she knocked firmly on the door.

  The voices silenced immediately, though she could still feel the tension radiating from within. A moment later, a deep voice called out, “Enter.”

  She opened the door cautiously, stepping inside. The headmaster stood behind his imposing desk, his hand raised as if to command the quiet. Around him were several teachers, their expressions a mix of anger and unease. One instructor paced back and forth, muttering under her breath, while another stood with arms crossed, trying unsuccessfully to calm her.

  The room bore evidence of the heated discussion. A broken vase on the floor, a chair tipped on its side, and a few scattered papers near the headmaster’s desk.

  Ella bowed slightly. “My apologies for interrupting, Headmaster.”

  The headmaster’s gaze softened, and he gestured for her to approach. She walked slowly, keenly aware of the tension hanging in the air as the teachers watched her. Reaching the desk, she placed the potions and documents before him.

  “Thank you, Ella,” the headmaster said, offering her a warm smile that felt out of place amid the chaos.

  She bowed again, murmured a polite acknowledgment, and exited the room. The door shut behind her with a loud, echoing thud, sending a chill down her spine.

  Ella rubbed her arms as she walked away, shaking off the lingering unease, pushing her thoughts aside.

  The meal hall was quieter when she arrived. She collected a tray, ate quickly, and made her way to the Arena.

  As expected, the vast space was empty. Most students were napping after their meals, leaving the grounds eerily silent. Ella set her bow down on a bench and inspected the practice targets. Several were worn from overuse, their surfaces ragged and torn. She sighed, retrieving her tools and getting to work .

  After repairing a few of the targets, she retrieved her bow and quiver, positioning herself at the firing line. The familiar rhythm of drawing the string, aiming, and releasing calmed her nerves. Each arrow struck its mark with satisfying precision.

  When her quiver was empty, she retrieved the arrows and continued the cycle, alternating between practice and repairing the targets. She noted with satisfaction that the second line on her arm, the rest allowance, grew slightly longer.

  A whole day of rest. She allowed herself to dream about it, even if it was only a fleeting thought. Though such an accomplishment would mean no meals the next day without work, the achievement itself felt worth it.

  As she packed up her equipment, her thoughts returned to the conversation outside the headmaster’s office.

  Almarin.

  The name tugged at her mind, foreign and unsettling. She wondered if the woman was an outsider who had visited the Academy before. A danger, perhaps?

  Tomorrow, before leaving the Academy grounds, she would ask the trap instructor. If anyone knew about Almarin and was open about talking, it might be him.

  By the time the day ended, her body ached pleasantly from the practice. She returned to the barracks, exhaustion and unanswered questions weighing her down as she lay on her bunk, her sleep time passing fast.

  Canella was up and ready well before the rest of the Academy stirred. The barracks were mostly silent, save for the faint rustling of a few other early-rising Pillars preparing for their day. She tightened the straps on her leather made armort. Agility was her priority, and she preferred the freedom of lighter gear over the bulk of heavier plating.

  Beneath the armor, she wore a set of clothes that felt foreign yet comforting. Dark blue and turquoise with silver stitching, they weren’t Academy-issued like the crimson and gold uniforms most Pillars wore. These had been a gift from the trap instructor on her graduation day. She’d never worn them until now, and as the soft fabric settled against her skin, she wondered how well they fit.

  By the time she reached the exit gate, the hallways were still deserted. She sat on a nearby bench, her bow resting across her lap, and waited.

  The sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness. Looking up, she saw the trap instructor striding toward her with a large sack hanging over his shoulder. As he stopped in front of her, Canella rose and bowed, expecting his usual warm yet formal acknowledgment.

  Instead, he stepped forward and embraced her.

  She froze still, her body rigid with confusion. No one had ever hugged her before, and certainly not an instructor. Pillars were rarely touched, except by the disciplinary committee, and even then, the contact was harsh, punitive.

  But this was different. The trap instructor’s grip was firm but gentle, and his presence radiated a warmth Ella didn’t understand. Her heart raced as she stood still, unsure of how to respond.

  After a moment, he stepped back, smiling at her as though the gesture were entirely natural. “These clothes suit you,” he said, his voice kind. “They’ll protect you.”.

  Before she could reply, he pulled something from the sack: a wide belt with four pouches. Holding it out to her, he gestured for her to take it.

  “These are for your arrows,” he explained as she inspected the pouches.

  “What’s in them?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

  “Three contain different poisons,” he said calmly, as like discussing the weather.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but he raised a reassuring hand. “You’ll need them. The first is for pain, it will incapacitate your target. The second causes hallucinations, disorienting anyone who’s hit. The third…” His voice lowered slightly. “It’s for death.”

  Canella swallowed hard, her gaze shifting between the pouches and his steady expression. She nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of what he was giving her.

  “And the fourth?”

  “For your cookies,” he said with a smirk, already placing a few cinnamon cookies into the pouch and then patting the pouch.

  She almost laughed, the unexpected levity breaking through her unease.

  He handed her a list of plants and materials, along with recipes for the three poisons. “I need these ingredients,” he said, his tone serious again. “They’re essential.”

  As she took the list, he stepped forward and hugged her once more, this time more briefly. The gesture, though still unfamiliar, didn’t feel as foreign.

  Before she could speak, movement at the far end of the corridor caught her eye. A group of Hunter Pillars approached, their movement confident and purposeful. Their leader, a tall man several years older than Canella, carried a sword that glinted faintly in the low light. Beside him walked a woman with a bow, her quiver slung casually over her shoulder. Behind them trailed four more Hunters, their expressions grim and focused.

  The leader’s gaze settled on Ella. “Come, gatherer”

  The word stung, but Canella bit back her retort. Silently, she slung her quiver and bow over her shoulder and fell in line behind the group.

  The massive exit doors groaned as they opened, revealing the wild terrain beyond. The Hunters moved out first, their weapons drawn, their postures tense and ready for battle. Canella followed, glancing back one last time.

  The trap instructor stood at the threshold, watching her. He raised his hand and made a small gesture, crossing his forefinger from his eye to his nose and then to his ear.

  Canella recognized it immediately. One of his lessons, repeated countless times during her training. Trust all your senses.

  She gave a small nod, understanding the unspoken advice, before stepping through the gates.

  The heavy doors swung shut behind them, cutting off the sight of the Academy. The sound sent a shiver through her, but Canella forced herself to focus.

  The world outside the Academy was vast, but not in the way Canella remembered from her graduation trial. It wasn’t open or free, it was suffocating, the air pressing down on her. The landscape stretched out like a massive room, so large, cradling the entirety of the Academy within its bounds. She glanced upward and saw the ceiling, high above them, its dimly glowing surface a constant reminder that this wasn’t truly the outside world.

  The feeling of enclosure was overwhelming, stirring memories she hadn’t revisited since the trial. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to focus on the path ahead, her bow steady against her back.

  Behind her, the Hunters whispered among themselves.

  “Why a bow?” one of them muttered, his voice barely audible but thick with disdain.

  Another shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Not our problem.”

  Ella turned her head slightly, trying to engage them. “A bow’s perfect for keeping distance,” she said. “I can help watch your blind spots while you hunt.”

  Their responses were curt, clipped. A series of uninterested grunts and single words. She tried a few more times, but each attempt was met with the same cold indifference. Eventually, she gave up.

  The leader, however, seemed to take notice of her silence. “Gatherer,” he said, his tone sharp and dismissive. “We’ll be entering the first forest soon. We plan to bring some meat back to the Academy. So make yourself useful and leave us alone once we reach the herb site listed in your orders.”

  His pace quickened, and he glanced back at her, his smirk unmistakable. “From there, we hunt. You gather. Everyone’s happy.”

  The others laughed, their crude humor grating against her patience.

  Canella nodded in response, though not out of respect. Compliance would keep conflict at bay, and she had no interest in arguing with them. They weren’t worth the effort. Uncultured brutes, she thought, masking her frustration with a neutral expression.

  The group walked in silence for a while, the looming forest ahead growing larger with every step. The air thickened inside the long corridors and Canella instinctively reached for her bowstring, letting her fingers graze it for reassurance.

  When they finally reached the edge of the forest, she realized she was walking ahead of the group. She paused, wondering why they’d fallen behind, but before she could turn fully, the leader closed the distance between them.

  Without warning, he shoved her, his hand striking her shoulder with enough force to send her tumbling to the ground.

  “As I said,” he growled, standing over her, “now you gather whatever you want. We hunt.”

  Canella scrambled to her feet, brushing the dirt from her hands, but before she could respond, the woman with the bow stepped forward, nocking an arrow in one smooth motion.

  The arrow struck the ground at Canella’s feet with a sharp thunk. The woman’s expression was cold, her intent unmistakable.

  “You’re the prey now,” the archer said, her voice low and venomous.

  Laughter erupted around her, crude and mocking. Canella didn’t understand the reason for their hostility, but there was no time to ask.

  Without a word, she turned and ran, her boots pounding against the ground as she left the sound of their jeers behind her.