Chapter 3- Best D*am Huntress
1615 Words
“Lilith,” Zane had repeated under his breath earlier, letting the sound linger like smoke. Something about it, about her, scratched at the edges of his composure in a way nothing ever had.
“She got to you, didn’t she?” The voice came from behind him.
Zane glanced up to see Marco, shuffling out from the shadows with a rag draped over one shoulder. Marco was a local from Ravenshore and owner of the garage.
“Careful with that one,” Marco said, chuckling as he leaned against the doorframe. “Girls like her? They’ll chew you up, spit you out, and you’ll still thank them for it.”
Zane shook his head, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m not so easy to chew.”
Marco snorted. “That’s what they all say.” He slapped the doorframe and disappeared back into the clatter of tools, still laughing.
Zane looked once more toward the direction she had left, the electric memory of her hand in his replaying against his palm.
“I’ll see you soon again, Lilith,” he murmured.
—
The gates of the Academy did not welcome her. They judged her.
Lilith felt it the moment the wrought iron parted, slow and deliberate, as if the stone beneath her boots were weighing her worth.
The Obsidian Academy rose from the cliffs like a wound that had never healed, black stone carved sharp, towers clawing into the low clouds, ravens circling high above as though tethered to the spires themselves.
She had trained her entire life for this place.
And yet, something in her chest tightened.
The air was wrong.
Not hostile—but it carried secrets.
Things unspoken. Rules unwritten. She could feel it.
The gates sealed behind her with a hollow clang that echoed far too long. Around her, students filtered in clusters across the courtyard: some confident, some wide-eyed, others draped in arrogance like armor.
The statues lining the paths caught her attention immediately. Hunters. Not heroes. Even though most of them believed themselves to be one.
Their stone faces were stern, cruel even, weapons raised not in defense but in dominance. Every one of them stood mid-strike, victory frozen in stone. No mercy carved into any of them.
Lilith slowed. She recognized some names etched on the plaques: legendary bloodlines, executions remembered as triumphs, monsters slain, but also warnings, treaties, purges rewritten as necessity.
She felt it then. That subtle pull beneath her ribs. Not fear. Recognition.
“Rothwell.”
Her name snapped through the courtyard like a command.
Lilith turned.
The woman descending the steps toward her moved with effortless precision. Tall, immaculate, her uniform pressed so sharply it might cut skin. Not a single strand of hair out of place. Her smile was practiced, measured, impersonal.
“Francoise Dupont,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ve been assigned to oversee your integration.”
Lilith took it briefly. “Lilith Rothwell. Nice to meet you.”
Francoise’s smile sharpened by a fraction. “Come with me. The first-years have a separate orientation hall.”
They walked.
Lilith cataloged everything as she was taught to: escape routes, blind spots, elevation changes. The hedges lining the paths were manicured too carefully, hiding narrow passages that twisted unpredictably. The grounds were designed to disorient, not comfort.
“Orientation has been… condensed this year,” Francoise said lightly. “Certain protocols have been accelerated.”
Lilith frowned. “Because?”
A pause. Brief. Barely there.
“Because of compliance issues,” Francoise replied, avoiding her eyes.
Lilith’s brows knitted. That made no sense. This wasn’t a normal school. It was built by rule breakers, hunters who had survived things most could only imagine.
They entered the main hall.
Magnificent was the wrong word.
The ceiling vaulted high enough to dwarf sound, chandeliers burning with silver flame that cast no warmth. Portraits lined the walls: hunters whose eyes followed movement, mouths pressed thin with judgment. Many familiar portraits etched the wall. The air smelled of steel, incense, and something older. Controlled violence.
Students gathered in uneven clusters. Lilith noted the divide immediately: legacy families gravitating together, polished and loud, while others lingered on the edges, quieter, watchful.
“Your schedule,” Francoise said, handing her a parchment. “Training blocks. Restrictions. Behavioral codes.”
Restrictions?
Lilith skimmed the page: no solo hunts beyond Academy grounds, no unsanctioned weapons activation, no contact with civilians regarding supernatural incidents, no engagement with forest entities without clearance.
Her jaw tightened. Half of these rules would get someone killed in the field. Half didn’t exist when she had been accepted into the Academy.
“This contradicts—” she began.
“The Academy doesn’t create hunters,” Francoise interrupted smoothly. “It trains them.”
Lilith looked at her sharply. “What’s the difference?”
Francoise’s eyes flicked briefly to the portraits. “Control.”
The unease sharpened. Control over monsters. Control over students. Control over the hunters themselves.
A bell rang, deep, resonant, vibrating through stone and bone alike. Students began to move toward their assigned stations.
That was when she felt it.
A presence.
Not behind her. Across the hall.
Lilith turned.
He stood near one of the columns, uniform immaculate, posture relaxed in a way that suggested ownership rather than attendance. Tall. Fair-haired. Smiling as if this were all terribly entertaining.
Harry Sinclair.
Of course.
His gaze locked onto hers with immediate interest, like a blade testing its edge. Recognition. Calculation.
He didn’t approach. Didn’t need to. The message was clear: I see you.
Lilith looked away first, not from weakness, but with annoyance.
She focused on the parchment in her hands, on the weight settling in her chest. This place wasn’t built to teach hunters how to be the best. It was built to teach them what they were allowed to be.
This was not the Academy she was supposed to join. Something had changed. Something had been hidden from her.
What happened in last two months?
The bell rang again.
“Form groups,” Francoise instructed. “Assessment begins now.”
Assessment.
Lilith stepped into position, muscles coiled, instincts humming beneath her skin. She felt it more clearly now, that pull, that readiness, the thing inside her that had never quieted no matter how much discipline she wrapped around it.
Around her, students shifted uneasily. Some were eager. Some were afraid. Some already pretending they weren’t either.
Lilith lifted her chin.
Whatever the Academy was hiding behind rules and stone and legacy, she would learn it. And if necessary… she would hunt it.
She had left home to make something of herself. She wasn’t here to become a soldier. She was a huntress. And she was here to become the d*am best one.
Far beyond the cliffs, unseen and unacknowledged, ravens screamed into the wind. And somewhere in Ravenshore, something old and patient smiled.
The bell had barely finished echoing when Lilith found herself standing on the training floor, marked out with runes that glimmered faintly beneath the polished stone. Students arranged themselves in pairs or small groups, murmuring strategies, flexing blades, and testing reflexes.
Lilith’s eyes scanned the room. Movement. Intent. Weaknesses. Every twitch spoke to her trained instincts. Every hesitation was a story she could read.
“First exercise,” Francoise announced. “Solo obstacle traversal. Complete it within the time limit, using only approved weapons.”
Lilith’s pulse steadied. Obstacle courses were nothing new. Speed, precision, awareness, these were her foundation. She adjusted the dagger at her hip, checked the runes for hums of energy, and stepped forward.
The course twisted through platforms, ropes, and walls that seemed designed more to confuse than challenge. Others faltered almost immediately. A pair of students collided, one slipping, the other caught mid-leap by sheer luck. Murmurs rose, some impressed, others frustrated.
Lilith moved like water, every motion deliberate. She vaulted, rolled, parried invisible attacks as she climbed walls, swung across gaps, and landed with perfect balance. Her shoulder burned faintly from the wolf encounter, but it was nothing she couldn’t mask.
Halfway through, an illusion shimmered across the floor—a creature, pale and wolfish, lunging at her from the shadows. Most students screamed, froze, or ducked blindly.
Lilith didn’t flinch. The creature was faintly ethereal, the Academy’s hidden wards giving it shape and purpose, but her instincts recognized it. She danced around its attacks, dagger humming, runes lighting in response. Each strike was precise, controlled, devastating.
She wasn’t just surviving—it was a hunt.
By the time she reached the end, she was the first. The other students looked stunned, some impressed, others simmering with jealousy.
Francoise stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “Rothwell,” she said, voice measured but tight. “You’ve completed it flawlessly. Yet…” Her gaze flicked to the illusionary wolf, now dissipating into a shimmer of runes, “…you didn’t respect the Academy’s rules. You operate independently. This can be dangerous in a real situation.”
Lilith met her stare evenly. “I’m not here to be controlled.”
A ripple of tension ran through the students. Some whispered, others glanced at her warily.
From the back of the room, Harry Sinclair’s smirk had vanished. His eyes were calculating now, sharpened. “Interesting,” he muttered under his breath. “Not just a Rothwell then. She’s… different.”
Lilith felt it too, the shift in the air, the subtle tug of the runes, the faint whispers that seemed to hum just below perception. There was something deeper here, something that had been waiting for her to arrive.
The first test was over. The real game had just begun.
- Writer
