How To Burn A Witch |DISCONTINUED|

Chapter 2

Head spinning at the promise she made to her superior, Nehir opened the mahogany door to the armory of her academy and picked her usual weapons: two battle axes and five daggers. Then, she headed out to the training field.

The sand on the training field looked as though it had been trampled on by a horde of elephants. The once sunny brown color of the sand was now fading into a muddy one due to the hundreds of students coming to practice there each day.

Nehir put her brown hair into a ponytail, grabbed the battle axes she had strapped to either side of her hips, and set feet on the sand.

From the moment she felt her feet dig into the sand, she knew Polaris Ignias was making her way towards her. The crimson-skinned endeka's raven hair bounced on her shoulders as she and her pack came closer and closer to the trainee.

Nehir's felt her anger rise within her as Polaris stopped in front of her. "Recrue Yeniçeri, I heard you failed your task again," she said in fake sympathy, her coal eyes shining with malice as she shot a look at her ten other friends.

The endeka were a race of Sentient Folk that always moved in packs of eleven, they could use elemental magic and the color of their skin matched that of the element they associated themselves with.

"So much time with your ear to the pavement, it's a pity a carriage hasn't run over your head," replied Nehir.

Polaris let out a low growl as her friends chuckled from behind her, "Sticks and stones, Yeniçeri, sticks and stones."

The huntress in training let out a chuckle, "Describing your breakfast?"

The endeka let out a dramatic gasp, her crimson skin becoming even redder in the cheek area as she shot the trainee a glare.

"I'd advise you to hurry up and at least wound a witch if you don't want to get your license revoked, Mongrel." said one of the endeka's friends.

Push it down. The Amavran girl thought to herself. Push the anger down and ignore them all. And so, she shot them all a rude gesture and continued with her training.

Realising that she and her friends would get no reaction out of her, Polaris walked away, leaving a trail of smoke beneath her feet.

I pissed her off, thought Nehir with a wide smirk on her face. Good.

As soon as they left, the girl allowed her blood to boil at the word the endeka used. Mongrel. That disgusting, despicable word people used to describe children like her: born to parents from different courts.

How many times had her peers called her that? Saying she'd never truly be Altaignean so long as she had Amavran blood flowing in her veins.

She'd be seen as a witchkiller in Amavros and as a witch bootlicker in Altaigne. There had never been an in-between and she was sure that there never would be.

It was one of the main reasons why she hated both courts so much. She'd never be Altaignean or Amavran enough to fit in. No matter what, people always expected her to fit some sort of imaginary box that would either make her Altaignean or Amavran. No matter what, her efforts would never be enough to satisfy the people of either court.

So, she had decided to take the easy way out. Ignore her Amavran heritage and adopt the more widely accepted Altaignean culture. She had the advantage of looking like them after all, why not use it?

She had worn their clothes, learned their language, respected customs, had concealed the Amavran accent she had been told was wicked and vile when speaking the common tongue for as long as she had been here. And yet, she was still forever branded as a try-hard, a girl playing pretend, someone who would never truly belong amongst Amavrans and Altaigneans alike.