Author's note :One more chapter to the backlog, one more chapter here
Morning couldn't have come sooner. After grabbing a quick breakfast and bidding the mayor farewell, Professor Port and I hit the road. The journey to Vale wouldn't take much longer—just a few hours to reach the outer perimeter of the city and then another hour until we got to the heart of it.
True to his word, the professor filled the time by giving me lessons, which he claimed "might or might not be on the test." The lessons were more like stories from his youth, each one weaving valuable knowledge with just the right touch of flair. Boarbatusk attack patterns? He told me a story of how he dodged a charging one by baiting it into revealing its soft underbelly, then dispatched it with a well-placed strike. Herd of Goliaths coming your way? He told of his grandfather outwitting a stampede, leading the massive Grimm to plummet off a cliff because, as Port put it, "Goliaths are terrible at turning."
It was honestly fascinating, if a bit rambling. The professor clearly had a knack for turning even the most mundane factoid into an adventure. But while the stories were entertaining, the road itself was a bit monotonous. So, I decided to practice my flying—bad idea.
First, I got a bit lost trying to find Port again after weaving through some dense foliage. Second, the sun was brutal, constantly getting in my eyes. As fun as flying was, I realized quickly that I needed sunglasses if I wanted to enjoy it more. No shining ball of gas was going to stop me from ruling the skies.
Soon enough, signs of civilization started to appear—distant hums of engines, defensive fortifications, glimpses of roads, and the unmistakable silhouette of Beacon Academy's castle-like structure perched on its hill. The sight of it filled me with a sense of excitement and dread. But more than that, I was eager to see the city itself.
Reaching the city gate, Port flashed his Hunter ID, and we were waved through without issue.
Vale was impressive, and honestly, it gave off a very European vibe—wide streets, plenty of space for walking, and a charm that hadn't been touched by the glorious suburban sprawl. Unfortunately, since we entered from the south, the first thing we passed through was the agricultural district, so I missed out on seeing Forever Fall's famous crimson trees. I'd heard they were stunning, but I'd have to wait for another day to experience them.
Once inside the city, Port and I went our separate ways. He headed straight to Beacon to prepare for tomorrow's exam, while I set off to explore the city—and more importantly, to get some shopping done. First things first, I needed a place to stay.
Finding a hotel room was surprisingly easy. Vale's service industry was robust, catering to travelers from all across the Kingdom. Within an hour, I'd secured a room at the St. Trisha Hotel. It wasn't anything fancy—honestly, it was more like a slightly rundown Holiday Inn just outside the industrial district—but it was affordable. At 100 lien per night, I couldn't really complain.
With that taken care of, my next stop was a clothing store. My mission? Aviators. Sunglasses might seem like a small detail, but after my brief flying experience, I knew I needed them if I wanted to keep enjoying my time in the sky without the sun blinding me. I found a pair that, while a bit silly-looking on me, would do the trick. I'd wear anything even clown makeup if I had to—if it meant enjoying a few more minutes of uninterrupted flying.
With my shopping done, I walked the streets of Vale, my new aviators resting on my nose, and took in the sights. The city buzzed with life, and though I was here for serious business, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Tomorrow, I'd be one step closer to Beacon Academy. But for now, I'd enjoy what time I had.
After securing my room and grabbing a pair of aviators to keep the sun at bay, I decided to indulge in the responsible thing every university student does—the joys of day drinking. I wasn't here to party, just to relax, but after all the preparation and the long journey, it felt like the perfect way to ease into things before the exams tomorrow.
After some scrolling on my personal scroll to find a decent spot, I couldn't help but notice the gigantic number of missed calls and messages from my family. 23 from Mom, 8 from Dad, 2 from Diana, and a handful from Terra, Saphron, and the rest of my sisters. I had the decency not to block any of them, just muted notifications for now. Hopefully, they'll understand when I'm enrolled at Beacon. Once I'm in, I'll be too deep to back out, and maybe that'll be the closure they need to accept my choice. For now, though, I couldn't let those constant pings distract me.
By the time I made it to a bar, it was already 6 PM. I ordered a cold mug of whatever was on tap, savoring the familiar, comforting bite of the brew as I settled down to formulate my game plan for tomorrow. I knew the written exam was coming up bright and early, and while I didn't think it would be a walk in the park, I was fairly confident I could handle it. Surviving Earth's education system had turned me into a pretty mean test-taker, and I'd devoured every bit of academic lore I could get my hands on in preparation for Beacon. I just had to trust in my own abilities.
The physical part of the exam, however, that was a different beast entirely. What did it even entail? Would I have to hunt down Grimm while a professor shadowed me? Face off against one of the teachers? Maybe it was something as simple as an obstacle course designed to push us to our limits. The uncertainty was gnawing at me.
If it came down to fighting Grimm, I'd be golden. Radiant energy from my Oath practically tore through those creatures. They didn't stand a chance, as I had learned back in the village. But if it meant going toe-to-toe with one of the teachers… well, that was a trickier situation. The knowledge from the tree had given me a basic understanding of swordsmanship, but it was more geared toward a grounded soldier's approach: shield up, feet firmly planted, and the sharp end aimed at the enemy. Huntsmen fought with a level of speed and agility I hadn't quite mastered yet, using their aura to leap, dodge, and strike with incredible speed.
But surely, they wouldn't expect us to win against a professional. If the test was about holding my own and showing potential, maybe I could pass by using my mobility. Flying around and dishing out smites from above could work. I'd just need to be extra careful not to get shot out of the air while I maneuvered. As long as I could do "well enough," I might be able to scrape by.
The real kicker, though, would be the extra credit portion of the exam. That's where I could truly shine. My abilities with my Oath gave me so much versatility: weak mental commands, smelling the Grimm from afar, healing, dispelling fear, and of course, flight. My smites had already proven themselves effective in combat, and there was even more I hadn't fully unlocked yet. As I grew more familiar with my Oath and its powers, I could become a true asset to any Huntsman team, a force multiplier.
Even if I didn't nail the physical portion of the test, I was confident that my unique skill set would set me apart from the other candidates. Dropping the hint that my semblance, "Paladin's oath," was still growing could only help my case. The potential for growth is what every academy looks for, right?
With a buzz from the alcohol relaxing me, I allowed myself to feel optimistic, the little fear in my heart was smothered by the glow of my oath, fear apparently had no place in me, a little worrying that my power was messing with my emotions a bit but the effort is appreciated.
Downing my drink, and then another I made my way to my hotel room to have a good night's sleep and prepare myself for the next day.
The early morning air in Vale was a welcome change—crisp, cool, and buzzing with the hum of city life. After spending so much time on the farm, I hadn't realized just how much I missed the sounds of civilization: tires rolling along the road, the distant chatter of passersby, and the general hum of urban activity. It felt wonderful, comforting in a way, like returning to something familiar after being away for too long. I'd grown fond of the peaceful farm life, but deep down, I knew I was a city boy, through and through—both in this life and the last.
Today's the day: the exam at Beacon Academy. It was scheduled to start in a couple of hours, with instructions advising candidates to be at the bullhead terminal an hour early. Of course, that didn't really apply to me. Why bother with a crowded terminal when I had wings and the perfect excuse to use them?
After grabbing a quick breakfast and washing it down with not one but two cans of the worst energy drink I'd ever tasted—something called "Hunter's Brew," which was like a foul mix of 5-hour Energy and that one off-putting Arizona tea flavor no one liked—I felt a jolt of energy surge through me. The taste was awful, but the kick was undeniable. Feeling jittery, I checked in with the front desk to extend my stay until initiation, then headed out into the city streets, already buzzing with anticipation.
Beacon Academy awaited, and I wasn't about to wait for a slow bullhead ride when I had the perfect alternative. I spotted the terminal, watching as bullheads took off and landed, making their way toward the majestic castle-like structure of Beacon perched on the mountain. That's where I needed to be.
With a grin, I popped on my sunglasses and unfurled my golden wings. A few onlookers gave me curious glances, but I didn't mind—I was far too excited to care. With a powerful push, I took to the skies, my wings propelling me higher as the ground below blurred. The wind whipped through my hair, and the exhilaration of flying was everything I'd hoped for. It was liberating, soaring over the trees and cliffs with the city sprawling beneath me.
As I climbed higher, Beacon Academy came into full view, its tall towers gleaming in the morning light. The topmost tower, glowing with a green light, stood as a beacon—both literally and figuratively. I set my sights on the bullhead landing bay nestled next to the castle, watching as one of the bullheads began its descent.
I matched its pace, descending just as it touched down. A few moments later, my feet landed on the ground, and I folded my wings with a deep breath of satisfaction. I had arrived.
As I landed on the Beacon landing bay, two figures caught my attention. They were clearly professors, and both eyed me curiously. The first was a middle-aged man with white hair, dressed in a sleek black and green outfit, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He had a calm, almost tired demeanor about him, like he'd seen everything there was to see. Beside him stood a woman with short blonde hair and piercing green eyes. She was... a bit eccentric. Not only was she holding a riding crop—yes, like the kind you'd use for horseback riding—but she also wore a deep purple cape that billowed slightly in the breeze. Quite the odd fashion choice, though considering the outlandish outfits I'd already seen on Remnant, it wasn't the weirdest thing by far. At least she wasn't covered in belts like some kind of Final Fantasy reject.
Not that I had any right to judge. I was still wearing Dad's old armor—a bit on the traditional side for a Huntsman, but it fit me well enough. It might not scream "Huntsman in training," but it felt right, like carrying a part of my family with me. But compared to the Huntsmen-in-training here, I probably looked like I was from another era.
The professors seemed like they were about to say something to me, but just then, the bullhead doors opened, and the prospective students began to file out. They looked... colorful, to say the least. Each one seemed to have their own unique flair, from wild outfits that looked more appropriate for a fashion show than a battlefield to absurd weapons that defied logic. One guy even had a tuba that looked like it doubled as a mortar. Practical? Questionable. Intimidating? Absolutely.
The man in green took a step forward and addressed us all. "Good morning, students. Welcome to Beacon. I am Professor Ozpin, the Headmaster here at Beacon Academy," he said, his voice carrying a calm authority. He gestured to the woman beside him. "And this is Professor Glynda Goodwitch, assistant headmistress and your soon-to-be instructor for combat classes here at Beacon."
Professor Goodwitch gave a sharp nod, her expression unreadable.
"Before any of that, however," Ozpin continued, "you'll need to pass the entrance exam. Many of you haven't had the opportunity to study at a Huntsman Academy like Signal, nor have you apprenticed under a professional Huntsman. So, for now, you are potential—nothing more, nothing less."
With that, he led us toward a massive auditorium. It was grand in scale, with towering ceilings, wide-open spaces, and the kind of architecture that made you feel like you were walking into a medieval castle. It had a certain gravitas that made the whole experience feel even more important. As we walked through the hall, I even spotted a statue of my grandfather. Or at least, I thought it was him—he was holding Crocea Mors, our family's ancestral weapon. The sword and shield bore the Arc family crest, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at seeing it.
When we reached the auditorium, rows of chairs had been prepared for us to take the written exam. I opted to sit in the back—partly to avoid drawing too much attention to myself since Crocea Mors and my Aura glowed a shiny golden light, and I didn't want to distract anyone. As I sat down, I caught the eye of a girl with a giant black bow sitting a few seats away. She gave me a nod of what I assumed was either thanks or relief. Maybe I had taken the spot she was eyeing, or maybe she was just grateful that I was sitting far enough away not to be a literal beacon of light. Either way, I settled in, trying to remain inconspicuous—well, as inconspicuous as a walking nightlight could be.
Professor Goodwitch handed out the exam papers, and once everyone had their copy, she instructed us to begin.
I flipped the paper over and scanned the first question: "Formulate a strategy on how to deal with a pack of Boarbatusks."
I couldn't help but smile. Port, you sly old man. He had basically given me the answer back on the road. A Boarbatusk's most dangerous attribute is its charge attack, so the key was to use that against them—bait them into charging and dodge at the last second to expose their soft underbellies. I quickly scribbled down my strategy, feeling confident.
At least I wasn't dumb enough to forget what a boar's "special ability" was.
The exam was surprisingly easy. Professor Port's "totally real tales" combined with my curiosity about this world and my past academic experience made most of the questions feel like softball pitches. Of course, whether the teachers would agree with my answers was another matter entirely. Glancing around, I saw my fellow applicants looking far less confident. Some were sniffling; others looked downright drained. Honestly, I could empathize. Standardized tests determining the rest of your academic future had that effect. I should know—med school had taken me more tries than I'd like to admit.
As for the upcoming physical test, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little nervous. Still, I wasn't drowning in anxiety, either. There was this... serene calm within me, as though my oath itself were casting Heroism on me every time my nerves started bubbling up. While I was grateful for it, I couldn't help wondering if relying on a divine buffer to keep my cool was the healthiest coping mechanism.
Time crawled by. Minutes stretched into tens, and soon enough, Professor Port entered the room with his trademark red coat, axe-blunderbuss slung over his shoulder. His jovial energy was almost palpable.
"Form a line, children! One by one, you'll follow me to our combat classroom," he bellowed, his voice booming. "There, we'll test your mettle in honorable combat. Hohoho!"
The line formed quickly, but of course, fate landed me at the back of it. Directly in front of me stood the girl with the giant black bow, her strange weapon strapped to her back. It looked like she'd stapled two machine guns onto a sword inspired by Attack on Titan. Pretty cool, even if it raised more questions than answers. Now why she added the machine guns is beyond me—gunswords are cool, but they're usually worse than just a gun or just a sword. Having Crocea Mors, I can claim that confidently. She's the best sword, after all, and those who say otherwise are wrong or paid actors.
The line moved slowly. Too slowly. I popped one of my weathered earbuds into an ear and pulled up a podcast to pass the time. Today's episode featured a gorilla Faunus pulling a Joe Rogan by interviewing Pietro Polendina about Atlas's latest technological innovations. Most of it went over my head, but the talk of cutting-edge prosthetics caught my interest. I was so engrossed that I almost missed my turn. Reluctantly, I paused the episode and stepped forward.
"Ah, young Jaune! Time for you to show your mettle, my boy!" Professor Port said with enthusiasm. He gestured for me to follow him across Beacon's sprawling campus. The academy was huge, its sheer scale overwhelming, though I assumed it would feel more manageable once we got maps. Finally, we reached the combat arena.
It was less intimidating than I expected—smaller than the auditorium, with raised bleachers for spectators. The arena itself was low to the ground, making it easy to step onto. At one end, I noticed a small room marked for student preparation. I wouldn't need it; I was already geared up.
Professor Port took his position on the opposite side, and I readied myself. Drawing Crocea Mors, I unsheathed the blade and let my aura flow into it. The sword always had a natural glow—a soft, gentle shimmer that seemed to reflect its purpose and the craftsmanship of the Fae. But as my aura coursed through it, the light intensified, quickly becoming a shining beacon in my hand, burning away the shadows with its brilliance.
My wings flared behind me, a cascade of golden light spreading over the arena. The glow would hopefully make it a bit harder for him to hit me with the bullets from his gun.
With my stance set and my body brimming with anticipation, I called out.
"Ready when you are, Professor."
"Ah, the eagerness of youth!" Port replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "But first, my boy, we must connect your scroll to Beacon's systems. While breaking bones and bruising egos might seem thrilling, we're here to measure your score! Hohoho!"
I quickly synced my scroll, my aura gauge appearing on the arena's scoreboard alongside his. A quick glance to the bleachers revealed Headmaster Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch observing us. Their positions gave them a perfect vantage point for grading.
The scoreboard began its countdown.
3... 2... 1…
No sooner had the final number disappeared than Port lunged forward with startling speed, his axe-blunderbuss raised high. His agility was staggering for a man of his size, and I barely managed to raise my shield in time. The impact was immense, the blow rippling through my arm like a shockwave. My shield held, though, thanks to the blessings of the fae—the craftsmanship felt as rigid as the mountains.
Port pulled back for another strike, and I seized the opening, pivoting on my heel to slash diagonally with Crocea Mors. He blocked deftly, the clash ringing out like a bell. Sparks flew as the radiant energy in my blade clashed with his weapon, though the old professor didn't so much as flinch.
"Good form, my boy!" he called, stepping back and switching his grip. With a flourish, he brought the blunderbuss to bear, firing a spread of glowing projectiles toward me.
I leapt into the air, my wings flaring to life as I propelled myself across the arena. His shots tore into the ground where I'd been standing moments ago, leaving small craters. Using the momentum, I swooped down and aimed a heavy overhand strike at his shoulder. He sidestepped with surprising grace, retaliating with an upward swing that caught me off guard. The edge of his axe glanced off my aura, sending me spinning midair. My aura gauge dropped slightly—down to 95%—from the glancing blow.
Righting myself, I landed with a flourish and charged forward, shield first. My wings retracted as I closed the gap, using my shield as a battering ram to force him back. He absorbed the impact with ease, countering with a sweeping strike that I ducked under. My sword flashed upward in a tight arc, catching him along the side. His aura flared as it absorbed the hit, the Golden energy in my blade ignited some small golden plumes where it hit but it was quickly smothered by the professor, and my own gauge ticked down to 90% as I infused the strike with a smite's radiant energy.
"That's the spirit, lad!" he bellowed, his excitement mounting as he pressed the attack.
The exchange became a whirlwind of blows, each strike and counter-strike faster than the last. Port's experience shone through—his movements were efficient, his strikes deliberate. I, by comparison, was relying on instinct and brute force, channeling my aura into every move to keep up.
As the fight wore on, my aura steadily drained—85%, 80%, 75%. I used another smite to break through his guard, the radiant energy forcing him back, but at the cost of dipping my gauge to 65%. Each burst of power bought me precious seconds, but the strain was beginning to show. My breath came heavier, my muscles ached, and my wings faltered.
Port, however, was relentless. He fired another volley from his blunderbuss, forcing me to take flight again. This time, I twisted midair, coming down in a spiraling slash that forced him to block with his weapon. The impact cracked the ground beneath him, and I saw his aura flicker briefly. My gauge hit 55%—another costly smite, but worth it to land a decisive blow.
"You've got heart, boy!" Port said, his grin widening. "But do you have the stamina to finish this?"
His assault intensified, his strikes coming faster and harder. Each clash sent tremors up my arm, and every dodge felt like it shaved seconds off my endurance. When I finally saw an opening, I poured every ounce of aura I could spare into one final smite.
Crocea Mors erupted with golden light as I swung, the blade carving a brilliant arc through the air. The impact sent Port skidding back, where the sword hit him golden flames started devouring his aura, seemingly using it as fuel for further damage, sadly the professor moved quickly to end the flames rampage, his aura gauge plummeting to 45%. For a moment, I thought I'd done it.
But giving the scoreboard a side eye I saw that my own aura dipped below 15%, and the exhaustion hit me like a freight train. My wings vanished, and I collapsed to one knee, using my blade as a crutch while I tried to recover my breathing.
"Magnificent!" Port declared, his voice brimming with pride. "You've pushed me farther than most here today, my boy! You've passed with flying colors! Although next time I ask you to watch out for the fire, I rather like my coat hohoho"
On the bleachers, Headmaster Ozpin offered a few polite claps, his expression composed but approving. Professor Goodwitch, on the other hand, was furiously typing on her scroll, her fingers a blur. Watching her, I couldn't help but marvel—her typing speed must have been insane. After a few moments, the two of them began descending to the arena floor. I guessed this marked the final part of the exam: categorizing my semblance for Beacon's archives and perhaps even giving me a few pointers.
My aura was running low after the fight, but I could manage some brief demonstrations if needed.
"Very good, Mr. Arc," Ozpin began as he approached. His calm, steady tone carried the faintest note of encouragement. "Quite the impressive display. Your form could use some refinement, and your understanding of huntsmen law would benefit from review, but for someone who did not attend a combat school, you performed remarkably well." He adjusted his glasses with a practiced motion, his tone as measured as always.
Professor Goodwitch cleared her throat softly, prompting him to continue.
"Ah, yes," he said, turning to her before addressing me again. "Before you leave, Mr. Arc, there are some additional details we need for Beacon's archives. While we can glean much from your family's records—and your sister's history—"
I winced at the mention of my sister. It must have been obvious, because Ozpin paused, studying my reaction.
"Ah, some family troubles, I see. Given your sister's circumstances, I can understand that." His voice softened slightly. "However, there are certain things only you can provide. Let's start with the basics: do you know your semblance, and how would you describe it?"
Professor Goodwitch's gaze fixed on me expectantly, her scroll poised and ready to record my response.
"Uh, well, sir," I began, rubbing the back of my neck. "My semblance is kind of hard to pin down. I call it 'Paladin's Oath,' but honestly, it does a lot, and I'm still figuring it out. First—and most commonly—I can generate this energy through my aura that's especially effective against the Grimm. When I infuse it into my sword, it causes any wounds I inflict to, uh, liquefy the area around them."
Ozpin raised an eyebrow in interest.
"It doesn't cost much aura, so I use it a lot in combat," I added quickly, sensing the unspoken request for a demonstration and wanting to clarify.
"But that's just the start," I continued, raising my hand to show another ability. I let my aura flow into my palm, activating Lay on Hands. A soft blue light radiated from my hand, glowing warmly. "This lets me heal minor injuries—nothing big, but I can use it in combat if I need to."
I pressed my glowing hand against my arm, channeling the energy into my muscles. The aches and bruises faded almost instantly, replaced by a soothing warmth. My aura gauge dipped slightly—2% according to the scoreboard—but the relief was worth it.
Professor Goodwitch's eyes lit up, and her typing became even more energetic. Healing semblances must not be very common among huntsmen. Ozpin, however, wasn't typing or nodding. Instead, he was staring at my glowing hand, unblinking. His intense gaze sent a shiver down my spine.
Clearing my throat, I continued. "That's just one way I use it. I can channel it differently for more power, but it burns too much aura to use regularly in a fight. Most of my other abilities are combat-focused—things like elemental effects when I strike, sharing my aura with others to enhance their weapons or boost their aura, stuff like that."
I paused dramatically, raising my arm again. "But this one's my favorite."
I reached deep into my aura, invoking my oath. With a burst of golden light, I cast Heroism. The glow radiated outward, enveloping everyone nearby in its warmth. The effect was immediate: fear was banished, and a sense of courage and calm took its place. My aura gauge took a significant hit, dropping from 13% to 8%, but the reaction made it worth it.
Professor Port erupted into laughter, his boisterous voice echoing through the arena. Professor Goodwitch paused her typing momentarily, a small, genuine smile gracing her lips. Even Ozpin, who had looked pale and strained moments ago, sighed deeply, his shoulders relaxing.
"Remarkable," Ozpin said at last, his voice tinged with melancholy. "A truly wonderful ability, Mr. Arc. It reminds me of brighter days." He paused, his gaze distant for a moment before focusing on me again. "If you need help understanding or developing your semblance, I urge you to seek guidance from your teachers—or myself. Such a gift should be honed safely."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze. Having Ozpin's insight could only be beneficial. My semblance was still new to me, after all.
"If that concludes your demonstration," Ozpin said, his professional demeanor returning, "welcome to Beacon, Mr. Arc. Initiation begins in one week."
He offered me a rare, warm smile before adding, "Ah, and one more thing. Please avoid using your wings without notifying a teacher beforehand. When you flew in, our anti-air defenses had to scramble. It caused… quite a bit of disruption."
I winced. That was fair. I hadn't considered how Beacon's defenses would handle a flying huntsman who didn't exactly announce himself. I was lucky not to have been dodging missiles when I left the city.
With the formalities done, Professor Port escorted me to the waiting bullhead that would take me back to the city. Knowing my history with air travel, I quickly requested several barf bags. Port, still laughing heartily, handed me a stack. If nothing else, it seemed the day had ended on a high note for him. Joy, it's a common problem, and at least it only affects me in mechanical vehicles, it would be quite embarrassing if I started barfing every time I took flight.
The taste of vomit clung stubbornly to my throat, and the acid reflux left my stomach twisting in knots. Thankfully, the bullhead's trip to the city proper was mercifully short. Still, the ride was far from smooth for me. In a desperate bid to keep my lunch down, I used my dwindling aura reserves to cast small bursts of Lay on Hands. Each cast bought me about ten minutes of peace—just enough to stave off disaster—but my aura wasn't in the best shape after the combat test. By the final stretch of the journey, the bags I'd requested from Professor Port became a grim necessity.
The other passengers were less than sympathetic. Some shot me looks of pity, others of thinly veiled annoyance, as though I had a choice in the matter. Let them sneer. I'd like to see how well they'd hold up in combat class after taking hits from a professional huntsman. Still, irritation bubbled beneath the surface. Motion sickness was no joke, and every jostle of the bullhead made me regret my entire existence.
When I caught sight of the terminal through the window, relief surged—followed quickly by regret as my stomach lurched again. The bag in my lap saw more action, and I heard audible groans from the passengers near me. They were holding their noses and avoiding eye contact like I was some kind of airborne plague. The feeling was mutual.
The bullhead thudded against the ground, shaking slightly as it settled. With a hiss, the side doors opened, and everyone bolted out of the cabin like their lives depended on it. I couldn't blame them. The air inside was downright oppressive by now, courtesy of my less-than-graceful flying etiquette.
I stumbled out, heading straight for the nearest trash can to dispose of the bags. A few passersby gave me wary glances, but I ignored them, too busy trying to spit the lingering taste of bile out of my mouth. The day's events had left me drained, but I'd done it. I'd passed the exam, and initiation was all that remained to officially seal my place at Beacon. That was something, at least.
For now, though, I needed some much-deserved R&R. My plan to lay low and celebrate my small victory was already forming in my mind. First, I needed mouthwash to purge the lingering aftertaste. Then, maybe a stiff drink—or three. Something to remind me that not everything in life was as rough as a bullhead ride on an empty aura tank.
CP Bank: 900 cp
Perks earned this chapter : None
Milestone reached this chapter :
Pass the beacon entrance exam : 300 CP
A Jolly good fight : Give a professional Hunter a good workout: 100 cp
The old man in the lighthouse: Make an Old Man Rediscover His Hope : 500 cp
