CHAPTER 1
“Get out of my room, you little gremlin!” Hazel yanked her pillow back from Asher’s grip, but her brother clung like a determined squirrel, his laughter bouncing off the walls.
“Not until you show me the dragon thing again!” He scrambled onto her bed, narrowly avoiding kneeing her in the ribs. “The one with the fire breath! Come on, Hazel!”
Ava leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “If you don’t shut up, I’m hiding both your favorite snacks for a week.”
Hazel groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. “Why are we related to you people?”
“Bad karma,” Ava said cheerfully.
Downstairs, their mother’s voice floated up. “If I hear one more crash, no one’s getting dessert!”
Asher gasped, scandalized. “That’s tyranny.”
Hazel smirked, flicking his forehead. “Welcome to the real world, kid.”
The Everhart family’s summer cabin was a symphony of chaos half-empty mugs of tea left on windowsills, Asher’s muddy footprints trailing from the back door, Ava’s textbooks strewn across the couch like she’d fought them and lost. Hazel loved it.
She sprawled on the porch swing later, watching the sun dip below the trees. Her fingers absently traced the edge of her notebook, where she’d scribbled ideas for new worlds places only she could visit. A city where it rained glitter. A library with books that rewrote themselves.
“Daydreaming again?” Her father settled beside her, nudging her knee with his.
“Obviously.” She grinned. “Someone’s gotta keep life interesting.”
He hummed, eyes crinkling. “Just don’t get lost in there.”
“Please. I always come back.”
(But later, alone in her room, she let herself slip just for a minute into a world of floating islands and candy-colored skies. No responsibilities. No rules. Just hers.)
Dinner was a battlefield of stolen fries and exaggerated stories. Asher reenacted his “epic” frog-catching adventure. Ava debated their mother over some obscure history fact. Hazel lobbed a grape at her sister’s head and got a carrot flung back in retaliation.
Normal. Perfect.
(She had no idea how soon it would all change.)
The Hunter Academy loomed ahead, its iron-wrought gates gleaming under the midday sun. Hazel squinted up at the towering spires, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
“Okay,” she muttered. “This is way more intimidating in person.”
Beside her, Asher bounced on his toes. “Do you think they have actual dungeons? Like, for evil sorcerers and stuff?”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Yes, Asher. And I’m sure they’ll let you test them out personally.”
Hazel snorted, adjusting her sunglasses. “If they do, you’re volunteering as tribute.”
Their father cleared his throat. “Remember, Hazel this is just a tour. No showing off, no accidentally trapping anyone in hallucinations
“Unless they deserve it,” Hazel finished sweetly.
He sighed.
The Academy courtyard buzzed with activity hunters-in-training sparring, instructors barking orders, and a group of students huddled around what looked suspiciously like a smoking, half-exploded artifact.
“Ah,” Hazel said. “So it’s basically summer camp, but with more weapons.”
Ava elbowed her. “Try not to sound too impressed.”
A sharp whistle cut through the noise. Hazel turned and nearly walked straight into a broad chest.
She tilted her head up. And up.
RuHan stared down at her, arms crossed, expression somewhere between unimpressed and actively annoyed.
“You’re in the way,” he said.
Hazel blinked. “And you’re blocking the way. So, really, this is your fault.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
Behind him, a man with a grin too charming for his own good leaned in. “Ignore him. He’s allergic to fun. I’m Anzai.”
Hazel smirked. “Hazel. And don’t worry I’ve dealt with grumpy before.”
RuHan’s glare could’ve melted steel. “This isn’t a playground. If you’re not here to train, leave.”
Asher piped up, undeterred. “Do you fight dragons?”
Anzai laughed. RuHan looked like he was reconsidering his life choices.
The tour was… tense. RuHan marched ahead, barely speaking, while Anzai cheerfully pointed out training grounds, the library (Hazel perked up), and the infamous “Hall of Misfired Spells” (which explained the earlier explosion).
At one point, Hazel accidentally nudged a practice sword off its rack. It clattered to the ground right at RuHan’s feet.
He turned, slow and deliberate. “You.”
She clasped her hands behind her back. “Me?”
Anzai coughed, poorly hiding a laugh.
RuHan exhaled through his nose. “If you’re this much of a disaster on a tour, I’d hate to see you in combat.”
Hazel grinned. “Stick around. I’m full of surprises.”
By the time they left, Asher had somehow acquired a practice dagger (Ava confiscated it), Hazel had definitely not been banned from the library (yet), and RuHan looked like he needed a very long nap.
Anzai waved as they walked away. “Come back anytime! Preferably when he’s off-duty!”
Hazel glanced over her shoulder. RuHan was still watching her, scowling.
She winked.
His eye twitched.
This, she decided, was going to be fun.
The Academy’s grand hall smelled of polished wood and old magic, the air thick with the hum of whispered spells and the clatter of boots on stone. Hazel lingered near the entrance, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings on the wall a mural of hunters and beasts locked in eternal battle.
“Lost already?”
She turned to find Anzai leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, that ever-present grin on his face.
“Please,” Hazel scoffed. “I was just admiring the decor. You know, in case I need to redecorate later.”
Anzai chuckled. “Careful. RuHan might take that as a personal insult. He loves these ugly old carvings.”
“Shocking.”
A sharp voice cut through the chatter. “Everhart.“
RuHan stood at the end of the hall, flanked by a group of senior hunters. His expression was flat, but the irritation in his tone was unmistakable. “You’re late.”
Hazel checked an imaginary watch. “Am I? Or is everyone else just obsessively early?”
One of the hunters snorted. RuHan’s jaw tightened.
Anzai clapped his hands together. “Alright! Since we’re all here finally let’s get started.”
The training grounds were a sprawling maze of obstacle courses, sparring rings, and to Hazel’s delight a pit full of what looked like very angry, very enchanted sand.
“This,” Anzai announced, “is where you’ll learn not to die.”
Hazel raised a brow. “Charming.”
RuHan stepped forward, tossing her a practice dagger. “First lesson. Don’t drop it.”
She caught it easily, twirling the blade between her fingers. “Wow. Groundbreaking stuff.”
His eyes narrowed. “Let’s see you do that when something’s trying to eat you.”
Before she could retort, the sand in the pit moved.
Hazel blinked. “Okay. That’s new.”
Anzai grinned. “Meet your first opponent enchanted combat sand. It hits back.”
Ten minutes later, Hazel was sweating, her hair sticking to her neck, the dagger heavy in her hand. The sand had formed into shifting, humanoid shapes fast, relentless, and annoyingly good at dodging.
Across the pit, RuHan watched, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“Having fun yet?” Anzai called.
Hazel ducked as a sand-fist whistled past her ear. “Oh, loads.”
She feinted left, then swung only for the sand to dissolve and reform behind her. It shoved her hard between the shoulder blades, sending her stumbling forward.
RuHan sighed. “You’re telegraphing your moves.”
She shot him a glare. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
He stepped into the pit. The sand recoiled slightly, as if sensing a greater threat.
“Watch,” he said, and then he moved.
Hazel had seen skilled fighters before, but RuHan was something else every motion precise, effortless, like the sand was bending to his will, not the other way around. In three strikes, the construct collapsed into a harmless pile.
He turned to her, barely winded. “Your turn.”
Hazel wiped her brow. “Show-off.”
But she adjusted her grip and stepped forward.
By the end of the session, she’d managed to take down two sand-creatures (with only minor bruising). Anzai applauded. RuHan looked vaguely surprised.
“Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly.
Hazel grinned, breathless. “Was that a compliment? I might faint.”
“Don’t.” He tossed her a canteen. “You’d just make more work for me.”
She caught it, their fingers brushing for half a second. RuHan pulled away like he’d been burned.
Anzai’s smirk said everything.
Later, in the dim glow of the Academy’s lanterns, Hazel sat on the training grounds’ edge, rolling her sore shoulders. The cut on her forearm stung, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
A shadow fell over her. RuHan.
“You’re still here.”
She shrugged. “Figured I’d soak in the ambiance. You know, blood, sweat, sand.”
He hesitated, then sat beside her carefully, like he expected her to bite. “You’re reckless.”
“And you’re tedious.” She tilted her head. “But you’re not wrong.”
For a moment, they just sat there, the silence stretching between them, not quite comfortable but not hostile either.
Then RuHan stood. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”
Hazel saluted. “No promises.”
He walked away, but she could’ve sworn his shoulders were less tense than before.
What’s worse enchanted sand, or RuHan’s attitude? 😏
Oh my gosh this is just so good i can’t tell how beautiful you wrote this 😍❣️🤝
his attitude obviously 😂😂😂 my gosh he’s full of attitude 😂
it’s gonna be so fun can’t wait for chapter 2 🤭