“There are three ways to successfully trap a beast: lure, corner, and—my personal favorite—trick.”

- Professor Selena Greenwood (Halistair Branch)

“Gather around, ya little monsters!” Our newest professor declared in a sickly sweet tone. One look at her and I knew that we weren’t going to get along. She had the same smile my mother used when she wanted something from me. Somehow, it appeared even more sinister across her elven lips. Professor Selena Greenwood ushered us closer to the pit. There were thick iron chains bedazzled with red runes across it, permitting us to lean over without too much fear of getting gouged out should the current inhabitant desire it.

“Can any of you buggers name this disgusting creature?” Greenwood asked our class cheerily. Her accent was light and yet definitely from some more rural area with how she overstressed her vowels.

She wasn’t the only thing overstressed that morning.

Me, Gwyn, and Lysandra had been inseparable up until the moment we reached our class. Lysandra muttered some nonsensical apology to us and then disappeared into the poorly lit room somewhere in the bowels of the school. We were definitely far below ground, and I caught the barest outline of a huge tunnel that led away from our current gathering. I had tried to pull Lysandra back, upset that she would ditch us at the first sign of getting seen together, but it was useless. Some of my dad’s late night wisdom drifted to me as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

Blood always bonds, my lovely daughter. Just make sure the bond is with and not against those around you.

I humphed at the memory.

Good load that did.

“It’s a Glimmerwing Hydra, ma’am!” A student replied proudly. Then, without prompting, he continued. “Rare-class, and popular in Hydrabane elixirs. They’re capable of hypnotizing their prey and can even cause memory alteration if used in conjunction with other enchantments!”

“Been reading Sir Sire, have you?” The middle-aged elf replied with a crooked grin. The class laughed, but I didn’t join them. “You’re right about the first part, cadet, but the rest of that is bollocks. There’s no such thing as true memory alteration. Hypnosis, yes. Enthralling, though unfortunately illegal, is also real. But the mind is far too vast and complex to accurately target.”

Across the chained pit, Charles met my gaze. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I scoffed and turned away.

“This class is…strange,” I whispered instead to Gwyn even as Charles raised his hands in exasperation.

“Yes,” came Gwyn’s simple reply.

“What do you think they’re gonna do with it?” I asked her.

“Kill it,” she said easily, as if we were discussing a particularly fluffy cloud. My stomach sank. Something about this whole situation gnawed at me, but I couldn’t figure out why.

“Now! Onto the purpose of this class. Here, I shall instruct you on the noble art of tracking and trapping beasts. They are cruel and savage creatures, and so as Orions, it is our duty to use those vicious impulses against them. We are not inherently stronger than our foes. They have magic. We do not, save for what enchantments we bear. But make no mistake. Any monster worth their wards is more powerful than you.” Professor Greenwood waited a moment to let that truly sink in.

“That is why we must be more cunning—more ruthless than even these sick creatures.” She pointed down at the Glimmerwing as it fluttered about and tried to find a way out of the large pit it was now stuck in. “There are many ways to trap a beast, but I shall begin our class with my personal favorite: tricking.” She smiled then, and I saw a malice there I had only seen a few other places.

Alaric as he slid a blade across my forearm.

James as he called for my death.

Gavin when he promised to gut me with his cruel blade.

Cruelty. It was the morbid delight in the power to harm another being. I ran my hand through the orange ribbon in my hair and remembered what Eliza, the girl who helped commission my Shardclaw gauntlet, had said.

“Did you kill the beast by yourself, and with only that one enchantment?” She asked.

“Uhh, yes?”

“Incredible,” she sighed with admiration. “And you gave it a good death?”

“I don’t know if there is such a thing, but I didn’t torture it if that’s what you’re asking,” I replied coldly.

“You truly are the perfect fit for us—made all the better that you weren’t trying to prove yourself to us.” She laughed goodnaturedly, her scars crinkling under the effort.

“We of the Order of Artemis are a band of huntresses dedicated to the purity of the hunt. We do not toy with our prey. We honor them with good deaths by not seeking glory or enjoyment from violence. Instead, we pursue the joy of the hunt itself. A good fight. But more than anything, we strive for balance. We do not take more than we need. We hunt, we do not cull.”

When Eliza had explained all of that and more, she’d given me the orange ribbon as a symbol of my induction into the Order. There wasn’t any ceremony or anything fancy, but the more I talked with her, the more I realized I wanted to share in their passion.

And should I need it, I felt I could call on at least a few of them when it came time to assist Kaelin.

“Thea. Thea. THEA.” Gwyn elbowed me hard in the ribs.

“Is my class too boring for you, cadet Shade?” Greenwood asked coldly. The rest of the class stared with her at my dumbfounded expression.

“My apologies, ma’am.” I bowed my head in embarrassment.

“Good luck on your first Hunt coming up if you can’t do something as simple as retaining your attention even when exhausted.” Greenwood turned to address the rest of the class, using me as an example for her point. “The monsters out there will wait until you are tired. Hungry. Horny. They attack when you are at your weakest. So do not do them the courtesy of showing them any weakness. Remember, class: they are hunters too.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Greenwood returned her attention to me. “Cadet Shade. Your answer to my question, if you will?”

My mind whirled into motion, but it was like swimming through molasses. I remembered something about her favorite type of trapping. Tricking?

“Uhh,” I answered with a blush. “Did you ask about how to trick the Glimmerwing down there into a trap?” A few students chuckled at my fumbling, but I paid them no heed. To my left, Gwyn whispered.

“Razorwire or siren song.”

Our professor glowered at the dwarf, but I sighed in relief.

“Siren song, ma’am,” I answered with more confidence.

“Why?” She demanded.

“Well, hydras of any breed have incredible regeneration, so a razor wire trap by itself would ultimately make them stronger, not weaker. A siren song could lure them away from their companions, if they had any, and lull them into complacency. I think it’s a common misunderstanding that just because a Glimmerwing has hypnotic magics, that they have some sort of built-in immunity to it.”

Thank the heavens for semi-compulsive reading habits, I offered to the ceiling. To my reply, Greenwood appeared mullified, if still a bit annoyed.

“Correct, cadet Shade. Be mindful of your attention next time, or I’ll be sure to volunteer you for some of my…illustrations.” She turned her back as she began to speak to the class, and I saw a strange sigil carved into neck barely peek out above her collar. It was like ink and scar met as one to form some unrecognizable symbol. It made my eyes itch just looking at it.

“Your distracted comrade is correct, class. A siren song trap would best fit a Glimmerwing. Who can tell me how a siren song works?” She waited for several heartbeats, but no one spoke up.

“Cadet Palelake, your answer?” Greenwood demanded, and I shifted uncomfortably as the flash of an axe through rain screamed through my mind at the name. I knew intellectually that it wouldn’t be Pietrich who raised his voice, but some childish part of me wished it was for no other reason than to prove last night was naught but a nightmare.

Gavin spoke.

“I am not certain, esteemed professor.”

“Honey will not trap this beast, dearie,” Greenwood drawled with a nasty smirk at the young noble. “Answer or leave. I do not teach students who can’t perform the lowest courtesy of preparation for my class.” She swiveled again, and while she did not straighten or stand on a stool, it felt like she was suddenly lording over all of us.

“Heed well, cadets. Redmoor will teach you to fight, but I will show you the ways to kill. The beasts out there—” she held out a single finger in what I assumed was toward the Wild. “—will not give you a fair fight. They trick. They lure. They corner. We just do it better. To not prepare for my class is to accept your life as forfeit.” Her stare fell coldly on Gavin and I noticed him fidget with the smooth scar along his now empty knuckle.

“Siren songs are devices that retrieve pleasant memories from those that hear it and emit them in the environment,” Gavin finally replied.

“Close enough,” the elven professor surmised with a snort.

“Anyone care to clarify this feeble excuse of an answer? No? Fine, I’ll do it this time. Siren songs, or sirens for those without a silver spoon up their nugget, are crude devices that don’t retrieve memories or some monster piss like that. They don’t actually make any true sound at all, so far as we can tell. Otherwise everyone hearing what they want to hear would all overlap in some strange chorus, now wouldn’t it?” She let out a snort at her own joke. No one joined her. She was like watching someone wave a naked blade around and laugh at the pretty reflections it cast.

“Nah, sirens just seep into your mind until it encounters the sound of someone you trust, then mentally bombard you until you give in and go looking for that phantom person.” She was about to move on when someone spoke up. “What was that?” Greenwood demanded at the interruption.

“Go on, Chris. Ask her what you just said to me.” It was Prince James, and he steadily prodded Charles in the neck until my old friend finally gave in. He muttered something unintelligible as the entire class waited for him to speak.

“By Coldor’s ratty beard, use your lungs, boy. I haven’t all day.” Greenwood placed two willowy hands against her sturdy hips as she waited.

“Do sirens work on people, or just beasts?” Charles finally inquired with his head downcast.

“Good gods, man, that’s not what you asked me, now was it?” Prince James yelled. Charles swallowed hard, but nodded and finally looked up. It was my turn to swallow with difficulty. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and hatred lingered there.

“Do siren songs work on the lesser races?” His words were like an omen of death in the class. Everyone stopped in their hushed conversations and waited to see how Professor Greenwood might react.

Oh, Charles. Why do you do this?

“Lesser races?” She spoke slowly, as if tasting the words. “Like them cockroaches in the fields, or the savages that plague our borders? Orcs and tieflings, and the like? Yeah, sirens work just fine on them. Better, some might say. Easier to trick someone with the delusions of intelligence, I’d say.” She sniffed and spat on the ground, not even deigning to glance back at where Azuris simmered against a pillar. His back was rigid and I couldn’t see his golden eyes through the dim light of the underground classroom.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Keep in mind, though, that a few sirens have been modified to use against deserters and other enhanced convicts. Never can be too careful with cowards.” She raised her left hand and a few people gasped when they saw how she was missing three fingers starting from the fifth and moving up toward her index. Scars laced up the back of her skin there too, but these were fortunately absent the archaic design I’d spotted on her neck.

“‘Nuff of that, my demented children. Let’s actually do some practice. Pair up. Each of you will get a chance to activate a siren for the little bugger in the cage down there. Over the next few weeks, I’ll train you up in all the basic traps and maneuvers so that your first Hunt is slightly less of a bloodbath than they usually are. In the next few days, we’ll join the Cloaks and get some real tracking under your slim little belts, ya greenies.”

With that sickly declaration, we all shuffled around to find a partner. My decision was made easy as I stood next to Gwyn, but my attention wandered through the crowd to see where Lysandra had sulked off to.

I didn’t find her.

Greenwood’s promise of joining with another division was the only thing others were talking about as we began to practice with the siren songs. It was an egg-shaped device that was as slender as it was simple. No grips, no bright runes to display its function save for a single activation rune on the small flat end it had along the bottom of its elliptical width. The object was as onyx as the space between the stars on a moonless night. According to our professor, it had one charge in it and had to replenish its energy for two hours before reusing it. I hated the oblong thing. It made my skin crawl as its purpose taunted me. There was no skill or honor to be had when using this device.

The next two hours were unflattering and awkward as my mixed emotions at both this class and using the insidious device on the small Glimmerwing warred inside me. It was tragic to see how the creature’s many eyes would glaze over each time someone activated the device and slowly swarm in the direction of the object. When it was turned off, the look of betrayal was as tangible as the stone beneath my feet. At long last, the wretched training was done and Gwyn and I fled for the sunshine. Dozens of students filtered through the large corridors lined with statues and paintings of previous Orions.

It was odd to think that in a place of such death and pragmatism, art would be so central to their decor. It wound around each marble pillar and extended through each expansive chamber and hallway like a plague of cold reminders.

‘You are meant to be like them,’ they said silently as I passed them by. ‘Become a weapon against the dangerous beasts that swarm our havens.’

I strolled under a collage of mystical beasts with various weapons stabbed through them and surreptitiously hid my shaking fingers into the wool-lined pockets of my military jacket. My brow furrowed. I pulled out a thin piece of parchment that was ashen gray. On it, two words were written on it in the unmistakable hand of my big brother.

I shoved the paper back into my pocket. I made a vague promise to Gwyn that I would meet her in the dining hall, then rushed to find the nearest empty room or nook. After several minutes, I cut under a roped-off corridor and hid behind an old statue of some elf with a bow twice his own impressive height. Though I’d read it in an instant, I took it out and read it again. The ink was white against the dark contrast of the rigid parchment, the material unfamiliar in texture along my trembling fingertips. The words didn’t change when I looked at them a third time. A fourth.

GET OUT.