Chapter 3 Blackwood Academy

The Gates of the Academy It had been a long and difficult journey, a meandering route through thick forests and steep terrain, to Blackwood Academy. Victor Night was now filled with amazement and trepidation as he drew closer to the majestic gates. With its old walls standing like a testament to centuries of history, the academy loomed before him like a fortress of stone and gloom. The enormous gates were made of dark, iron-bound wood and had elaborate carvings of moons and wolves all over them.

The entrance was flanked by two tall stone gargoyles, their eyes glowing with a spooky light, a silent warning to anybody who ventured to enter. The smell of damp stone and the distant cry of wolves were carried by a chilly wind that swirled through the courtyard. There was an almost tangible force in the air, an old-world might that made Victor shudder. His fingers tightening on the hilt of the wooden blade concealed beneath his tunic, he adjusted the battered leather sack draped over his shoulder. There was a lot of movement in the courtyard, with staff and students moving with purpose and their voices resonating across the large area. Victor watched them, his eyes keen and perceptive, looking for any trace of weakness, any suspicion. He noticed a variety of features, some tempered by years of intense training, others full of youthful exuberance. A cluster of pupils, dressed in the recognisable black uniforms of the institution, stood close to the gates, staring at Victor.

Their eyes lingered on his shabby clothes and his strange looks, their expressions a mix of distrust and interest. A tall, commanding guy with years of expertise etched on his face walked up to Victor, his eyes examining every inch of his look. His posture exuded authority, and he was dressed in the clothes of a senior instructor. "Name?" he said in a piercing voice. "Victor Night," Victor answered in a steady, deep voice. "Purpose of your arrival?" Victor stated, "I am here to compete for the Claw of the Moon,"with a fixed look. The teacher squinted his eyes and stared at Victor's face. "You are... different,"he observed in a suspicious tone. "We have not seen many... outsiders." Victor looked him in the eye, his face unreadable. He stated, "I am here to prove myself,"in a forceful voice. "That is all."The teacher nodded, his face remaining circumspect. "Very well," he remarked. "Come with me. You will be shown to your quarters by me. With a creak that reverberated throughout the courtyard, he turned and escorted Victor through the gates.

Victor trailed along, his senses sharpened, his eyes absorbing every inch of the massive structure of the academy. Ancient tapestries that portrayed scenes of fabled conflicts and valiant actions dotted the walls. Armour suits guarded the corridors, their gleaming surfaces gleaming in the fading light of the torches. The faint whiff of wolfsbane and the smell of old paper filled the air. Victor followed the instructor along a long, dark hallway with wooden doors that led to a dorm. With mistrust lingering in his eyes, he gave Victor a key. "Your quarters are at the end of the hall,"he stated. "The west wing is where the training fields are situated. The mess hall, which is situated in the centre courtyard, serves meals. With his fingers grazing the instructor's hand, Victor accepted the key. He experienced a sudden surge of energy, an odd bond that made him shudder. "Thank you," he said softly. The teacher nodded, his face remaining circumspect. He said, "Remember, Night," in a foreboding tone.

There are customs at this academy. Show them respect. His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he turned and left. Victor stared at the man's vanishing form as he watched him leave. He was aware that he was being observed and that everyone was observing whatever he did. He would need to exercise caution in order to keep his disguise intact and demonstrate his value. He went into his quarters, a tiny, bare-furnished room with rough-hewn stone lining the walls.

The sound reverberated around the still room as he shut the door behind him. A stranger in a new place, he found himself alone in the centre of Blackwood Academy. Scene 10: The Initial Meeting The sounds of grunts and the crash of wooden swords reverberated throughout the expansive training fields of the academy, causing the air to sizzle with energy. With his senses sharpened and his mind analysing the moves of the sparring students, Victor stood close to the edge of the clearing.

Two combatants were surrounded by a group of pupils, their faces flushed from effort, their voices full of praise and criticism. Wooden swords clashed with a loud thwack as the fighters, with their precise and flowing movements, traded blows. Victor watched them intently and critically, looking for any indication of weakness or hesitancy. He observed a variety of methods, with some depending on speed and agility and others on pure force. Abruptly, a sharp, authoritative voice broke through the cacophony. "Thats enough!"The fighters came to a halt, their chests heaving, their gazes focused on the voice's origin.

Victor turned to see a tall, powerful figure with fiercely intense eyes walking towards them. Xander Blackwood was the one. His presence demanded attention, and he moved with a quiet authority. His eyes were a piercing blue that appeared to see through any façade, and his features were chiselled and sharp. His silver-streaked black hair was tied back in a tight braid, highlighting his jawline's power. Even though he was wearing the black uniform of the academy, he seemed to fit it differently and exude a distinct energy. His movements were precise and smooth, and he exuded a sense of power via his predatory grace.

He came to a halt before the fighters, his eyes moving over them, his face unreadable. "That was sloppy," he added in a low, menacing voice. "You don't use enough planning and too much physical force. You are dependable. The fighters looked at each other anxiously, their cheeks flushed with dread and embarrassment. With his eyes lingering on Victor's strange features, Xander turned to face him. His voice was abrasive and demanding as he questioned, "And who are you?" "Victor Night," Victor answered in a steady, deep voice. Xander squinted his eyes and stared at Victor's face. He said, "I haven't seen you around here before," in a suspicious tone. "I arrived today," Victor said with an unclear expression. With his eyes remaining on Victor's face, Xander nodded. "Well, Night," he responded, a challenge in his voice. "Since you're new here, perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your skills."With a hungry glimmer in his eyes, he pointed to the clearing. "Care for a spar?" Victor's expression remained fixed as he met his gaze. "Anytime," he murmured in a low, menacing voice. Their eyes were wide with eagerness as the students gathered around them.

They had never experienced Victor's actual strength or seen him engage in combat. An important lesson was going to be imparted to them. With their eyes locked in a silent challenge, Victor and Xander turned to face one another. Victor was the first to move, his wooden blade a whirl of motion, his moves smooth and quick as lightning. With his sword aimed at Xander's throat, he quickly disarmed him after deflecting his blow. The only sound in the clearing was the two fighters' laboured breathing. Xander's face reddened with disbelief as his eyes widened in horror. It was the easiest and most complete loss he had ever experienced. With his eyes focused on Xander, Victor dropped his blade. "Skill without strength is useless," he stated in a chilly tone. "Remember that." Instead, he turned and left Xander standing in the clearing, his eyes a mix of uncertainty and rage.

The pupils' faces were a mix of amazement and terror as they watched him leave. They had just seen how strong Victor Night really was, and they would never take him lightly again. Scene 11: The Living Quarters Victor found himself standing in front of a dimly lighted hallway with identical wooden doors that led to the dormitory. The gentle murmur of voices and the smell of aged wood filled the air. His footsteps reverberated on the stone floor as he walked down the corridor, his senses sharpened and his intellect examining the social dynamics of his new environment. He stopped in front of a door with the number 13 etched in metal. With a pleasant clunk, the lock clicked open as he inserted the key. He walked into the room, looking around the modestly furnished area. The furniture consisted of a small wardrobe, a wooden desk, and a single bed. The sound reverberated around the still room as he shut the door behind him. A stranger in a new place, he found himself alone in the centre of Blackwood Academy.

He walked up to the window and stared down at the moonlit courtyard. He observed students walking between buildings while the night air carried their words. Footsteps padded softly on the stone floor as he heard them approaching. He turned to see a young man with big, curious eyes standing in the doorway. "Aren't you the new one?