In the cold, gray hush of the Academy's detention center, a girl in a red cloak sat alone—again.
The iron chair beneath was bolted to the floor, and creaked with every shift of her weight, though she barely moved. Her fingers ran methodically over the limbs of a crossbow, careful, practiced, quiet. It wasn't loaded, of course. They never let her carry bolts inside the walls. But they didn't take the weapon itself—not anymore. Not after they realized it wouldn't matter. She wasn't dangerous because of what she carried or wore, she could carry a spoon and Ministry would be just as concerned.
She was dangerous because of what she was.
Her cloak hung over her shoulders it practically enveloped most of her like an oversized poncho, hood pulled low even indoors, brown hair falling out of the sides of it, casting her features in partial shadow. Only her hands—worn, steady, marked with faint scars from older days—remained uncovered peering through side slits in the cloak. She tilted the weapon slightly, checking the string for fray. A pointless ritual, really. She already knew it was fine. But the motion kept her busy and ready. She was anxious to get back outside and lightly swaying her head from side to side helped to keep herself stimulated.
She thought about the hassle of it all.
Every time she came to the gates—every single time—they detained her. Interviews. Scans. Magical screening. Half a dozen forms and twice as many questions, often repeated to try to catch her out in a lie and none of it ever enough. Spy? Witch? Terrorist? Traitor? Take your pick. She'd heard all the accusations before. And once the interrogators were satisfied—and only mostly satisfied—they put her in a witch holding cell anyway for debrief.
She would swear under her breath as she got more impatient with the process. The crossbow clicked softly as she adjusted the sight for what felt like 37th time.
She didn't even resent them for it. Not really. Fear made people cautious. She could live with that. She had to.
Behind the one-way glass, Grand Inquisitor Venryn stood, hands clasped neatly behind his back. The metal trim of his longcoat caught the low light like a knife's edge. His grey crew cut and handlebar mustache gave him a look of a man who had seen everything... and was prepared for more. Two Ministry guards flanked him stiffly, saluting with silent formality as he entered an approached. He did not return the gesture—his focus remained entirely on the girl in the room beyond.
"She makes the hair on your neck stand up, doesn't she?" he said at last, voice low, even, but edged like frost.
The guards exchanged a look. Neither answered.
Venryn's eyes reflected in the glass stayed fixed on the crossbow in her hands expecting her to do something. "I've read her file. Three separate academies flagged her. Eleven field detachments refused to work with her. Magical diagnostics are clean—too clean. And every name she's ever given traces back to someone long dead, or someone who never existed at all."
He paused, letting that settle in the silence.
"I don't trust that she's cursed as she keeps saying," he said. "I trust that she's wrong. Something about her doesn't belong in the order of things. You feel it in your bones. That gut feeling that just doesn't go way when you are close to her. That the worst thing you are going to experience in your life is just behind that hood."
He turned slightly toward the glass, his reflection superimposed over her hunched form. "So we call her Red. Because whatever is under that hood… we cannot trust."
Then began to chuckle at the source of his discomfort. His words spill out from his chuckle.
"Ironic! That the wolf among us isn't the beastkin. But her..."
He stops and holds a cruel grin.
"And yet, we can give her a taste of her own medicine... Send her in."
The door's lock gave a low, mechanical thunk as it disengaged. Red barely looked up—she was used to the sounds by now. But when she caught the scent—wild, cold, and sharp like pine and blood—and heard the soft click of claws against stone, her spine straightened in an instant.
Then she froze.
The heavy door swung open to reveal Lieutenant Nexialia Ivankov— The black colored, lupine beastkin, and the subject of more than a few whispered warnings in the lower halls. Red had done well to avoid her up until this moment. But now... she was cornered.
Nex moved slowly and deliberately. Not to cause any sudden motions. Her sky blue eyes caught the dim light of the cell and reflected it back like ice of a frozen tundra. Her reinforced jacket hung open, revealing fur and a blue halter top, worn and scratched from fieldwork or her own claws. The long curve of her bushy white tail flicked once behind her as she stepped forward.
Red dropped her crossbow.
It hit the floor with a clack and skidded across the tiles.
Her breath caught in her throat—short, sharp, and shallow. She couldn't look away. Her entire body locked in place, every inch of her trembling despite her efforts to stay still. She didn't move to run. She didn't speak. She didn't blink. She simply watched—wide-eyed and utterly stricken.
Just like the reports said.
Just like no one had believed.
Behind the one-way glass, Grand Inquisitor Venryn watched with hands still folded behind his back in quiet satisfaction.
"Utterly terrified. Just like what was documented. For me to go as far as to second guess our own reports from some of the finest officers in the ministry, including our pet." he murmured to the guards beside him.
The guards said nothing. One shifted uncomfortably.
"Yes... this arrangement keeps each other in check. We don't have to trust Red. Nexalia will get the full brunt of the responsibility if something happens whatever comes from Red is a bonus at best."
Back in the room, Nexialia stopped just a few steps from the table. She crouched slowly, gaze level with the girl in red trying to keep herself from looking too Intimidating. Her ears flopped down, voice was low, calm—measured, but not unkind.
"At ease apprentice, you are not in trouble. I read your report. It seems you have been trying to point the Ministry's attention towards, the Starfall Carnival yes?"
Without breaking eye contact the girl nodded slowly. Her hearts was going to burst out of her chest at this rate.
"What is there that makes you so certain that this 'affliction' you have carried is related to that place."
Reds voice finally rang out. High pitched and raspy. Like she was always recovering from screaming her heart out, trying to get someone ANYONE to listen.
"I... Know it is. N-nothing I say will make a damn bit of difference to you. It was there... I began to loss everything... and everyone."
A look of determination breaks through the overwhelming fear. The emotions were real enough. The bags under her brown eyes, the raspy voice, scars from animals on her hands. Her self maintained gear. All the evidence was there that she had been through a lot and alone.
Nexalia folded her arms. Took in her words. Then... she took a gamble. Her accent calmed Red for just a moment as she spoke.
"Then... that will be your assignment. You will get your witch finders, your supplies, a logistics officer and MY supervision. Get ready to finally prove yourself because you are going into the deep end... Witchhunter."
The wolf girl struts out and closes the door. Leaving the girl to calm down.
She could hear voices on the side of the door.
"Final member requested."
"What kind of nightmare scenario are you putting together? All for the sake of a lie?"
"They either sink or swim. If she is so untrustworthy then better to put her on a team that's doomed to fail anyway."
"If they fail... Nex. It will be YOUR reputation that it will effect. If Red so much as sneezes in the wrong direction. You will be court martial-ed for this."
"Yes, sir. A lieutenant should be liable for their field agents failings. Should I fall for this supposed lie then that will be on me. After all Grand Inqusitor... peddle a lie that has been through enough ears... It starts to sound true doesn't it."
No answer. The footsteps move away.
The four of them stood at the forest's edge beneath a sky gone pewter with stormlight—each one looking like they belonged to a different story entirely.
Allun Ripply, the merfolk, leaned lazily against a moss-covered signpost, hair damp and tangled from his morning swim, his wand dangling from a belt loop like he might forget where he left it. He blinked slowly, unbothered, distracted by a beetle crawling on his sleeve. He hadn't noticed the tension thick in the air, or maybe he had, but simply chose not to care.
Red, cloaked in crimson and shadow, stood apart from the others as always—hood drawn, expression unreadable. She made no effort to approach, and none of them made an effort to ask her to. Her presence crackled with something unspoken, a tension born from fear rather than familiarity. No one trusted her—not really. But no one dared send her away either.
Petunia Cherrywine hummed a jaunty tune while rummaging in her flour pouch, the white dust clinging to her apron and curls like a badge of pride. Her size barely reached Garrick's waist, but she stood with the confidence of someone twice her height and thrice her experience in feeding difficult people. Her cast-iron skillet clanged cheerfully at her side.
And then there was Garrick Sacavo, human noble, glaring at all three like he'd just been sentenced to manual labor in the pigpens of hell. His pristine white coat was unsmudged, boots polished, expression drawn into a sneer so refined it could curdle milk.
"This," he said, gesturing vaguely and dramatically to the rest of them, "is the worst deployment I've ever been assigned. The Ministry must be laughing themselves breathless in the Tower."
"Technically," Petunia chirped, "they're in a glass spire, not the tower part. Hollowglass. Lovely view, awful sandwiches."She munches on a cookie she had somehow repaired earlier.
Garrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why am I being punished?"
Allun glanced over, brow furrowed. "But this an exam right? Not detention. I am in the right group, right?"
"You, fish," Garrick snapped, jolting Allun's attention. "You, the baker, and her," he jabbed a finger in Red's general direction, "are the finest disaster the Ministry could possibly scrape together to humiliate me. Well I'll show them. Papa WILL hear about this."
Red didn't look up. She was checking the gear that had been provided to her. Her bolts. Her Whisper stone to contact the others. A standard issue wand and various pouches on her belt under the cloak.
Garrick threw his hands in the air at the lack of attention."This is the final exam. The last test before full commission. And they expect me—a trained nobleman—to lead a dodgy loner, a sea urchin with the mental acuity of one to match, and a confectioner with delusions of relevance into a cursed carnival?! This... this is what she meant wasn't it? That over trained mutt! She did this on purpose to mess with me! Even down to the carnival. It's all just a joke to her!"
Petunia grinned. "Well, I do have delusions. But they're usually about pastries, not leadership."
"Save your inputs to someone who cares, I am your commanding officer and you will respect that when I speak, you listen!" Garrick snapped, turning toward the woods and pauses for a moment trying to regain composure.
"The wandering Carnival was last seen just beyond the Blackbark Forest. West of Ashport. We're to locate, investigate, and identify potential witchcraft or anomalous activity, Red will be on standby to eliminate position, I will form a command post in the woods and relay information back to the ministry."he added.
"And survive," Red murmured softly.
Garrick froze, then turned slowly. "What?"
She finally looked up, eyes cold beneath the cowl. "There are Perytons in this forest. Invasive monsters, said to feast on the hearts of men in order to reproduce. Vicious creatures that can carry you off to the mountains to feed."
A beat passed. Even Allun looked up. The aura of unease irradiating from Red did not help.
The forest loomed ahead, dark and twitching with wind. Somewhere within, the Carnival waited, full of flickering lights and too-wide grins.
Garrick exhaled through his teeth and tried to shake off his nerves.
"Stop trying to scare me with your lies, peasant," he growled. "Let's just get this over with."