Four
The door creaked as she pushed it open. The dorm was long, divided into multiple individual sections, each outfitted with a four-poster bed, a desk, a chair, and a small wardrobe. Swathes of deep purple fabric acted as partitions for privacy. At the far end of the room, a large stone fireplace roared, and the stone floor was layered with rugs, some worn and others vibrant. It was a cozy space, but the thought of sharing it with the others unsettled her. It was not the safety of her singular room back in Ravenclaw Tower, where she could decompress and let the anxiety of being around people all day melt away. There would be no grounding morning magic here, with elven eyes on her.
The room was already filled with novitiates, and they all turned to look at her as she shut the door. The crackling of the fire did nothing to warm her. Resisting the urge to retreat, she started toward the last vacant bunk in the far corner. Her footsteps echoed in the silence that had settled over the room. Their eyes were insects on her skin, expressions from curiosity to contempt to outright hostility burning into her. She could feel the invisible wall separating her from them, with her clearly human clothes, her short stature and rounded ears, and a heart that pounded with nerves and fear.
When she got to her section, there was a timetable with her name stamped at the top sat on the desk. Uniforms hung in the wardrobe and hygiene products sat in boxes at the bottom, to Kara's relief. All she had for belongings was her wand and the clothes she was wearing. The whispering had started now, sounding harsh and judgemental. Kara pulled the purple fabrics closed, her hands clumsy. The drapes fell around her, creating a safe cocoon of privacy and muting the whispers.
With a shaky hand, Kara retrieved her wand from its sheath under her sleeve. Warmth radiated from it when she closed her fingers around it, a silent reassurance, a tether to the life she had left behind. Swallowing hard, she dared a peek through a slit in the purple fabric. She saw the huddled figures of the novitiates, all engrossed in hushed conversations, eyes flickering now and then to her section.
Retreating before they could spot her, Kara's eyes fell on the timetable on her desk, the unfamiliar insignia of Dragon's Nest stamped at the top. She scanned it, memorising her classes and activities for the upcoming days. The first half of the week held physical classes; the second half was full of magic lessons. Swordplay, Equitation, Archery... She paused for a moment on Survival Training, a lump forming in her throat. She'd spent most of her life indoors, huddled over books, her mind honed to research old texts, not to thrust swords or shoot arrows.
She moved to the next set of classes: Mentalism, Runes, Combat Magic, Rituals, Healing. While these were undeniably more within her realm of experience, she had never even heard of some of this magic. Seeing 'Rituals' sent a frisson of fear through her and reminded her of the circle near Hogwarts. Had that had something to do with her appearing here? She didn't know how she felt about learning such unpredictable magic. And Combat Magic! Kara had a feeling it would be nothing like what she'd been taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Her eyes scanned over Mentalism again. Felix was an Occlumens, and had constantly badgered her into learning it, but she'd never had the time. Was that what she'd be learning here?
She couldn't imagine herself in any of these classes. It wasn't just the unfamiliar surroundings that made her feel uncomfortable, but the expectations reflected in the timetable.
A sigh escaped her lips as she folded the timetable and tucked it back onto the desk. With nothing else to do, she settled onto the bed, propping herself up against the wooden headboard. She pulled out the parchment Kalon had given her and started the laborious process of translating the elven script.
Time rolled on unnoticed as Kara immersed herself in translation. The room beyond her partition buzzed with activity, and then gradually quieted down, but Kara barely registered the change. Her focus remained steady, whispering the translation charm sentence after sentence.
When she finished, exhaustion crept over her. She blinked wearily, the translated script now clear and understandable. She felt a surge of satisfaction, followed by a wave of homesickness. The familiar task reminded her of classwork and days spent in the Hogwarts library.
Her eyes glanced around her section, imagining Jari's comforting presence, Felix's infectious laughter. Her heart ached with the longing for home, for a life she might never have again if she didn't pass the Challenges.
With a tired sigh, Kara carefully rolled up the translated parchment and placed it beside her bed. She laid down fully, her body sinking into the mattress. Clutching her wand close, her eyes drifted shut, her mind whirling with thoughts of the days to come. She fell asleep with a single, firm thought etched in her mind - she was going to survive this, no matter what.
...
The fabric of Kara's new uniform felt strange against her skin as she made her way out onto the grounds and towards the sandy platform she'd been shown yesterday. The training area was bustling with novitiates already warming up. At the heart of the circle stood Beshal, his gaze monitoring every movement with a predatory alertness. The sight of the long, sharp swords filled Kara with dread, but she forced herself to step forward, to join the throng of novitiates.
"Human," Beshal called out as she approached, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. He held out a sheathed sword towards her.
Kara's palms started to sweat. She had studied countless magical theories, learned some of the most intricate spells, but never had she held a sword. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers closing around the hilt. The weight of it caught her off guard. The sword dragged against the ground as she tried to lift it, the strength in her arms proving insufficient.
Beshal's gaze was on her, his lips curling up into a smirk, but he only turned to address everyone. "Basic stance, novitiates!" he commanded, his voice ringing clear across the training grounds. Kara found herself swept along with the others as they hurried to obey, forming rows and standing at attention. She tried to copy their stance, clutching the sword awkwardly, attempting to mimic the grip of the novitiate next to her. Her arms shook, her jaw clenched, her brows furrowed, and still, she could not lift the sword off the ground. Were they supposed to be this heavy?
"Seems our human novitiate can't even lift a sword," Beshal taunted, his sharp gaze moving from her to the other novitiates. Murmurs of laughter spread across the grounds.
With a swift movement, Beshal moved towards her. "A sword isn't suited for the weak," he stated, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he plucked the sword from her hands. He turned around, leaving her standing there, humiliation making her cheeks flush. Moments later, he returned, thrusting a stick into her hands. "There, human. That should be more suited to you," he sneered, stepping back to let her continue.
The stick was feather-light compared to the weight of the sword. It was nothing more than a branch stripped of its leaves and twigs, but the lightness did nothing to soothe her burning embarrassment. She avoided Beshal's gaze, the cruel satisfaction that probably sparkled in his eyes. The sniggers of the novitiates drilled into her skull, the stick in her hand a symbol of shame.
For the remainder of the class, Kara swung the stick in as fierce and resolute a manner as she could muster. She focused on the swoosh it made as it cut through the air. Beshal had issued the same instructions to all of the novitiates – a series of repetitive motions that were probably intended to lay the foundation for the swordplay technique they would learn later.
The other novitiates, so comfortable brandishing their swords, barely seemed to break a sweat as they smoothly transitioned from one stance to the next. But Kara, unaccustomed to any form of physical strain, quickly tired. Her arms were already trembling, and the stick felt heavier with each passing second. Her movements felt uncoordinated and her timing abysmal. The laughter and condescending glances from her elven peers did little to help.
A stick! A simple, feather-light branch was her nemesis. It wasn't the weight of it, but the realisation that she was struggling with such a basic task. She felt like a fool, standing amidst the graceful, athletic elves, struggling to keep her stick upright.
After what felt like an eternity, the session ended. By then, her arms were aching from the effort, and the once light stick felt as heavy as the sword had in her weary hands. She was the last to leave the training grounds, her pace slow and her mind clouded with embarrassed frustration.
Unfortunately, the rest of her day continued in the same vein. Their afternoon class was Equitation. Kara felt a sense of despair as their instructor, Ashwin, informed them that the horses they would ride weren't usual horses – they were specifically bred and raised to serve custodia, the finest in the world, known for their exceptional strength, speed, and agility. And they looked it. They were taller than her, with muscles rippling under their glossy coats and their eyes intelligent and discerning.
Kara had never been on horseback. She lived in a small village in the middle of the English countryside when she wasn't at Hogwarts. There was a field near her house full of horses, and Kara often petted them if she ever walked by. Those horses were sweet, but the ones here just seemed utterly intimidating.
Worse, the novitiates each chose a horse and mounted with ease, their movements confident and practiced. When it was her turn, all the horses shied away from her, snorting in displeasure, their eyes filled with suspicion and wariness. The stables filled with the raucous laughter of the elves each time she tried to approach one, watching her fail again and again.
"Enough," Ashwin said eventually. "It's clear that the horses won't accept you, human. I think it would be best if you spent the lesson cleaning the stables instead."
The laughter erupted again, louder this time. Kara looked at Ashwin, her eyes pleading for a chance, but the elf only looked back impassively. And so, she spent the remainder of the lesson with the stench of horse manure filling her nostrils and the sounds of the elves enjoying their ride grating on her ears.
Later, back in her section of the dorm, she let herself feel the full impact of the day's humiliation. She replayed each snicker, each condescending glance, each cutting remark. She lay on her bed, her muscles aching, and her mind exhausted. The stick from Swordplay, propped against the wall, seemed to cast a long shadow in the dim light from the fireplace.
Today had been hard, perhaps one of the hardest days of her life, but she was still standing. As she closed her eyes, clutching her wand, she thought she could at least be gratified by that fact.