Mildrith (old)

“Gods, I’m absolutely doomed.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t even try to finish the assignment given to me,” The scholar moaned. “Do you think he forgot over the time off?”

“...Are you joking?”

“A-Am I doomed?”

“Yes, absolutely. I’ll be surprised if you even live past first bell.”

Nascent boasted the finest academy in all of Opes Civis. A colossal structure dating far, far back, surviving three wars, six conflicts and one bout of ominous disease. Only the most prestigious were offered the privilege to attend, and even less to complete their learning in full.

Of all fields of learning, across every last subject one may choose to study, three subjects remained utterly and without question compulsory. ‘World Theory’, ‘Sparring’ and ‘Creature Study’. The first encompassed history, geography and considerably the dullest. Sparring pitted all and every student against each other in battle practise. Though some adored it, the more academically inclined would rather perish. Creature Study was biology, and mythology analysis. These subjects were deemed the utmost necessary, and one could not change them for any reason.

However, Creature Study had become somewhat of a notorious subject for the students. A series of jokes shared among the learners, concerning a particular professor. A tall, broad shouldered man with a strong jaw and a relentlessly stern stare. A man renowned for his sheer intelligence, his dedication to teaching, and his absolute merciless attitude to others. The only man fabled to have made the headmaster of the academy cry in the middle of assembly. Detention and retention were frequent, with scholars forced to work into the late hours, stuck in the classroom until assignments were finished with reference and submitted directly to him.

“M-Morning, sir.”

The student swallowed.

“Judging by that meek greeting and your head hanging low, we will be spending a lot of evening time together. Sit.”

“U-Ugh...” The scholar drooped, moving to sit.

He had a scar across his brow, and thick white hair sat about his shoulders in strong curls. He stood often with his hands behind his back, voice thundering to the very back of the hall.

It was common knowledge to sit at least three rows back to avoid your head from splitting open, a joke often laughed about far, far away from the ears of the professor.

“S-Sorry I’m late!” Cried a young woman, clutching the silk shawl about her shoulders. She smelled of flowers, a smile genuine, though it vanished upon her head ducking to fumble about her knapsack. “Um, the a-assignment, I’ve- sorry, sir, let me just get it-”

“I’ve time.”

Mildrith plopped the bag onto the floor and crouched. Her hair fell in front of her, and she huffed, pulling out her work with a gasp.

“Ah!” She chirped. “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” He nodded. “Please be seated.”

She sat in the first row. Alone. She often claimed to her friends that she preferred the solitude of being seated without fearing company beside her, but in truth she adored the professor, cheeks warm and curling her hair about her fingertip, sighing longingly at him from a distance.

“We shall start,” He hummed, firmly shutting the door to the theatre. Rows of wooden pews surrounded him, and he cleared his throat. “For those newcomers, I welcome you to what you will soon discover to be your least favourite subject. I am not here to be your friend, nor am I to sit and listen to any excuse you may pawn off on me for not having your work done. I set assignments every night without fail, and if you fail to return them to me, you will sit here until whatever time you complete it, start to finish. Yes, I can do that, and yes, I have kept students in through the entirety of curfew. My advice is to not be stupid.”

He gestured to Mildrith, who straightened, a smile on her face.

“Mildreth achieves the best in this class. Should you be, for whatever reason, struggling. Talk to her and get yourself sorted.”

“Tch,” Came a reply, a student resting his chin on his hand. He balled up parchment and threw it at her, to which it was caught in the professor’s hand.

“I see you do not enjoy the thought of intelligence, Misuka. How funny, considering you are among my poorest students. But fine, do not be a student. Leave my class, and tell the headmaster I have prohibited you from passing this compulsory subject. Enjoy failing.”

The class fell silent. The student stammered an apology before realising there would be no forgiveness. He began to cry, leaving the room.

“For those who do not know me, I am Zaccheus. I have taught here at this academy since it first opened. Yes, I truly am that old, yes, each conflict was hell on this land, and yes, the disease was very much thriving everywhere. I am from a pure lineage of drakon and so I will no doubt live past a lot of you, and to that I say, I truly do not care. Should you wish to learn and learn well, we will get along quite nicely. But so help me if you are unwilling and I see you be so, I will make teaching you a nightmare. This academy is too good for some of you, at a glance. Not all of you will stay, and again, I don’t care should you leave. I would prefer it. Go and live in an alley or something, it makes no difference to me. Now, all of those who have done assignments, pass them forward for collection.”

Zaccheus brought out a large, dead harpy, pinning it to the wall behind him, circling and speaking. He pointed to its anatomy, opening its mouth to expose long, thick teeth. He pulled the wing and spread webbed fingers, some students growing unwell due to the thick stench of the embalmed corpse. Zaccheus pulled out the large book given to students and tapped the cover.

“Page three hundred and one has a text I would like you to read,” He hummed. “I have questions for you to answer in depth and referencing the book, please have them done swiftly.”

Mildrith snuck glances at Zaccheus, doodling small hearts on her journal alongside her answers. A finger came to point at them, and she looked up, surprised.

“Is this part of your answer?” Zaccheus frowned. Mildrith uttered a nervous laugh.

“S-Sorry, no, they aren’t. U-Unless harpies sense their victims using their heart.”

“Some creatures use love as a means to seek victims. Succubi, for example,” Zaccheus hummed.

“Will you have one in to study their anatomy? Have you ever met one?” Mildrith blinked.

“Succubi have humanoid anatomy. I definitely know what a human looks like, and yes, I have.”

“Wow, you’re amazing,” Mildrith breathed. “How incredible! To have met such a thing and survived...”

“...Do your work,” Zaccheus breathed, with the smallest hint of a smile. The students grumbled, wishing he could be so soft on all of them. Mildrith chirped, until a rather bothered peep left her bag. She gasped.

“Oh!” She cried out, yanking the straps of her bag to open it. A furious sparrow flew out and onto the table, pecking at her fingers. “O-Ouch! Oh, Dilly, do stop! How did you even get into my bag?”

Dilly huffed, hopping about on tiny legs and attacking Mildrith’s fingers, wings flapping about in protest. A series of miniscule, rage-fuelled squeaks left the bird, and she gathered it up into her palms.

“Oh, shush, Dilly,” Mildrith whispered. “Please calm, I am terribly sorry. You must have been- y-you must-”

She began to laugh.

“You must have been all s-squashed in with my b-books-” She snorted, picturing the bird smushed in among the papers, legs sticking out and enraged. This laughter did not sit well with Dilly, who squeaked in anger, biting at Mildrith once again.