Chapter 15
961 Words
Leaving the lecture hall, I was relieved not to run into anyone unpleasant. The archery range was quite far, so I walked for a bit. The Academy grounds were beautiful.
When I arrived, I found a crowd of first-year boys. Everyone was gathered around the board where names for the tryouts were being written down. I signed up as well, then stepped aside and sat on one of the stands.
“Pathetic. Did you get the wrong elective?” one of the Fire House first-years asked.
“No, I didn’t,” I replied calmly.
“This is the archery range, i***t,” another one from the same group chimed in.
“I can see that,” I answered just as calmly.
“Do you even understand you don’t belong here?” the first one pressed.
This pointless exchange could’ve gone on forever, but the coach called everyone to their positions just in time.
“Welcome, first-years! Today I want to see who among you is worthy of my time. My name is Gregory Walles. I’m from the House of Fire. Precision is my second nature. Show me what you can do, and I’ll teach you how to hit a target blindfolded. Let’s see how many of you we have.” He looked at the list.
“Not many this year. Oh, interesting — a girl among you! House of Water. Let’s see… Ariel, step forward.”
I obeyed and approached him silently.
“Girl, what are you doing here?” he asked, studying my posture.
“I assume the same as everyone else,” I answered.
“Oh really? Have you ever even held a bow?” the coach asked.
“A few times,” I replied.
“All right, then show me what you can do.” He handed me a bow. “The target is fifty meters away. The rings have different scores: fifty points in the center, then thirty, twenty, and ten. Each of you gets three shots. If you don’t score at least a hundred, you’re out. I won’t waste time on dead weight. Understood?” Walles addressed the group.
“Begin,” he ordered me.
I took the bow. Back in my world, when I practiced archery, I learned that each archer naturally develops their own shooting technique — because everyone’s physical build, muscle development, and body mechanics differ. The shooting stance is determined by the position of the feet, torso, and head.
I preferred a sideways stance. Feet parallel, body aligned with the target. I drew the string back to my anchor point — the tip of my nose. The neck muscles holding the head upright must not be tense; otherwise, the tension will travel into the drawing arm, cause misalignment, and ruin the shot.
The head must remain still during the shot — any change affects accuracy. The distance between the dominant eye and the arrow tip must stay constant, so the teeth should be clenched. The jaw must rest against the hand and tab, giving the archer a stable anchor point. Grip and release also matter.
Without knowing these basics, hitting the target is nearly impossible.
Breathing matters too. At the moment of the shot, the archer must become the most stable version of the “shooter–weapon system.” That means holding your breath to prevent chest movement.
Aiming means focusing on the sight — because the eye cannot see three different distances clearly at once. And the release should happen between heartbeats.
I aimed, imagining Eleanor’s smug face instead of the target, and released the string.
“Fifty!” Gregory Walles announced loudly. “Not bad for a girl.”
I ignored the comment, took the second arrow, and shot it — this time imagining Noah.
“Fifty,” the instructor repeated.
I picked up the third arrow and intentionally missed. The last thing I needed was more attention.
“Zero,” the coach said, sounding uncertain. “Well, you’ve set the bar high. I admit, I didn’t expect that. Next!”
I returned the bow and went back to the stands.
Some guys shot reasonably well, consistently hitting the target, but none reached a hundred fifty.
Others barely scraped sixty.
The last to shoot was the Fire House first-year who’d told me I didn’t belong. His name was Edward.
“Begin,” Walles ordered.
Edward aimed and released.
“Fifty,” the coach announced.
Edward continued, smirking confidently.
“Thirty,” came the next comment.
“Twenty,” Walles concluded. “That makes one hundred. Barely, but you and Ariel pass. The requirement was a hundred points. We’ll see how you perform next time, Ed. Hopefully better than the girl from the House of Water.”
“Don’t compare me to her! She doesn’t belong here! She just got lucky! She didn’t even hit the target last time!” Edward snapped.
“Regardless, the rules were the same for everyone,” the coach reminded him calmly.
“She’s brain-dead — next time she’ll hit one of us! She shouldn’t be here!” Edward kept going.
I’d had enough. I silently picked up a bow and arrow and shot.
My arrow split his previous arrow clean in half before burying itself in the center.
“Fools and weaklings blame luck,” I said coldly. “But you’re right — I don’t belong here. Thank you for the chance to shoot, coach.”
I set the bow down and walked toward the library.
Everyone around me grated on my nerves. Unable to face their own inadequacy, they tried to poison my life instead.
“Aria, what should I look up first?” I asked the dragon.
“Find out what happened in the last hundred years,” my imaginary dragon replied.
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