Chapter 9: Trainees

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.”