The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone path as Brom and Aelar made their way through the quiet village. Dew clung to the wildflowers by the roadside, and the scent of freshly baked bread drifted from cottage windows. Brom's old leather boots struck the ground with steady rhythm, while Aelar's newer ones scuffed and stumbled as he tried to keep up.
Brom glanced at the boy from the corner of his eye. Aelar's gaze darted everywhere—the cottages, the fields, the hawk circling high above—as if every detail was new to him. Brom stroked his beard thoughtfully. He looks unprepared. Wide-eyed, green, soft. Yet there was something in the boy's posture that made Brom hesitate. There's something peculiar about him, though I can't place it.
Breaking the silence, Brom said, "I haven't properly introduced you to the school yet. It's called the Iron Hedge—the only one of its kind in this region." His deep voice rolled like gravel. "Everyone here learns swordsmanship. We don't have the luxury of choice. Demons roam these parts."
Aelar adjusted the strap of his heavy bag, his knuckles whitening. Demons? Like in the old tales? The thought sent a shiver down his back, but excitement stirred in him too. He kept quiet, not wanting to reveal how little he knew.
When they reached the final hill, the school came into view. From afar it had looked like a hunk of stone, but up close it was an enormous fortress. Walls of solid granite rose thirty feet high, lined with black iron spikes that gleamed under the sun.
Aelar stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open. "Sir, is… is this the school?" His voice trembled despite the warm day.
Brom slowed, taking in the familiar sight. He remembered his own first time seeing it, twenty years ago. "Yes. And before you ask—yes, the walls are tall for a reason."
Aelar nodded quickly.
"They're not just to keep demons out," Brom continued. His eyes flicked to the iron watchtowers looming above. "Sometimes they're to keep demons in."
Aelar's breath caught. His brow furrowed, confusion plain on his face.
Brom studied him. Strange. It's as if he doesn't even know what demons are. And yet… everyone here grows up with those stories. He almost explained, but a glance at the sun made him grunt. "We'll talk later. We're late. Let's move."
Aelar swallowed hard and forced himself to follow.
The Gate
The massive iron gate loomed ahead, guarded by two men in steel armor marked with the emblem of Iron Hedge—a thornbush curling around a blade. They stood stiff, hands resting on their hilts.
Brom pulled a burnished metal badge from his coat and showed it to the left guard.
"Sir Brom," the guard said respectfully, eyes scanning the badge before narrowing on Aelar. "And who's this following you? Not a stray, I hope."
Aelar nearly choked on his own spit. A stray?!
Brom's expression didn't change, but his voice carried weight. "He's with me. A new recruit. First day." He rested a protective hand on Aelar's back, steady and firm.
The guard arched a brow but pulled out a small ledger. "Name?" he asked Aelar.
"Aelar, sir," the boy replied, trying to sound confident but landing closer to nervous.
The guard scribbled it down with charcoal and snapped the book shut. "Welcome to Iron Hedge Academy. Follow the rules, and you'll live longer than most."
Aelar blinked. "Live longer—?"
But before he could ask, Brom guided him forward.
The Yard
Inside, the fortress revealed its true size: courtyards, training grounds, tall stone buildings. The main yard rang with steel—students moved in perfect synchronization, practicing sword forms that caught the sunlight. Others sparred fiercely, watched by instructors barking orders sharp enough to cut.
Aelar's face lit with wonder. "This place is… incredible," he said, almost laughing with excitement.
Brom allowed himself a faint smile. "At least you've got the right spirit."
"Sir, I'll do my best," Aelar said, straightening his shoulders with determination.
"Good. You'll need it." Brom led him toward a side building. "Your first year won't be under me. That honor belongs to Professor Sol."
If he survives the first year, Brom thought grimly. The dropout rate was no joke.
Professor Sol
They walked through a long hallway lit by glowing lanterns, past portraits of graduates and gruesome battle scenes against demons. Aelar tried not to stare too long at the twisted shapes on the canvases.
Finally, they reached a heavy oak door with a brass plate: Professor Sol.
Brom rapped firmly. "Professor Sol?"
Silence.
He knocked harder. Still nothing.
Brom exhaled through his nose. "Every time," he muttered, planting his feet. "Step back, Aelar."
"Yes, sir."
With one solid kick, Brom sent the door flying inward, the frame splintering. The door slammed against the wall with a crash.
Inside was chaos—books, scrolls, ink stains everywhere. At the desk sat Professor Sol, fast asleep on a pile of ungraded papers, drool sliding down his cheek.
Brom's eye twitched. "Every. Single. Time."
"Should I… say something?" Aelar whispered nervously.
"No need." Brom drew in a deep breath and bellowed: "WAKE UP!"
The effect was instant. Sol jerked upright with a yelp, arms flailing as papers exploded into the air. His chair toppled and he hit the floor with a thud.
"Wh—what—demons?!" he shouted, scrambling up, eyes wild. His hair stuck out in every direction, and a sheet of paper clung to his face.
Brom crossed his arms. "Always sleeping when you should be working."
Sol blinked, rubbed his eyes, and finally focused. "Oh. Brom. I thought you were an intruder." He yawned so wide his jaw cracked. "What brings you here? Another emergency?"
Brom stepped aside, gesturing to Aelar. "A new student for your class."
Sol's shoulders slumped. "A new student? I already have nine. Nine is plenty! Ten is…" He waved a hand dramatically. "Ten is chaos."
"Ten is your job," Brom said flatly. "This comes from Lord Rodel himself."
Sol groaned, rubbing his temples.
Brom turned to Aelar, resting both hands on his shoulders. His voice softened. "Do your best."
"I will, sir," Aelar replied firmly, meeting Brom's gaze.
Brom nodded once, satisfied. "Then I'll leave him in your care." Without another word, he strode out, boots echoing down the hall.
Sol slumped in his chair, glaring at the broken door. "That's the third one this month," he muttered.
"Should I… fix it?" Aelar asked politely.
"What? No, no, I'll get someone later."
But Aelar had already dropped his bag, pulled out tools, and in moments the splintered wood was as good as new. Hinges tight, lock working, better than before.
Sol gawked. "How in the—? You fixed it already?!"
"Yes, sir," Aelar said matter-of-factly. "Figured I should be useful."
Sol's eyes glistened. He clasped Aelar's hands dramatically. "My boy, you've just saved me from another scolding! You don't know how much this means."
"Glad I could help, sir," Aelar said, though he wasn't sure if he should laugh.
Sol quickly composed himself, wiping his face and straightening his rumpled coat. "Right then. Come along, Aelar. Your classmates are waiting. They're… a handful. But you'll see."
As they left the office, Aelar cast a glance at his repaired handiwork and smiled. This place is going to be interesting, he thought.