The Archivist

Chapter 3

Bernard helped Alexander load his trunk into the family Rolls Royce early the next morning. As they prepared to leave for Athanor Academy, Alexander scanned the library windows, hoping for a glimpse of his father. Seeing nothing, he muttered under his breath, "He couldn't even stop long enough to say goodbye." Bernard, sensing the moment's weight, embraced him. "Your father loves you. He just doesn't know how to show it sometimes. Come on now, we have a long drive to Athanor Academy."

The journey was silent, with Alexander gazing out the window, his thoughts swirling as the landscape shifted. As they neared Athanor Academy, the gothic grandeur of its architecture struck him. The foreboding, ivy-clad stone structures seemed almost alive, their eerie ambiance heightened by the fog that enveloped the grounds. Gargoyles perched on the gray stone facades appeared to guard the secrets lurking within.

Surrounded by ancient oaks and elms, their twisted branches casting eerie shadows under the moonlight, the academy felt like another world. Dimly lit by old-fashioned lampposts, the mist-shrouded paths led to the main building where students in traditional robes moved silently, their whispers barely stirring the heavy air.

Upon arrival, Bernard was instructed to leave Alexander's trunks at the front for the porter to handle. Alexander, meanwhile, was directed to the main hall for orientation. Entering the hall, he was immediately struck by its imposing interior. The soaring ceilings supported by dark wooden beams intricately carved with esoteric symbols and mythical creatures. The stained glass windows lined the walls, casting vibrant patterns on the stone floor and depicting scenes of ancient rituals and arcane lore. Massive fireplaces broke the expanse of the hall, their large hearths crackling warmly against the chill.

The grand staircase at the hall's end, adorned with mystical carvings, led to the upper floors, while heavy tapestries hung between the windows, muffling sounds and adding to the cloistered atmosphere. These tapestries narrated the academy's storied past and the lineage of scholars and mystics who had roamed these halls.

Alexander found a seat at the back next to a student whose presence was unsettling yet intriguing. Cyril, with his sharp, angular features and rat-like visage, offered a handshake. "Cyril," he introduced himself, his smile not quite reaching his calculating eyes.

"I'm Alexander," he replied, shaking Cyril's damp hand.

"Nice to meet you. Planning to be an Archivist, huh?" Cyril's voice carried a hint of cynicism.

Alexander grunted noncommittally, "We'll see."

"Yeah – I've been forced to come too. My parents got tired of having me around the house and said this would be good for me. What do they know, right?"

Surprised to find a kindred spirit, Alexander looked at Cyril, his initial reservations giving way to a tentative curiosity. "Yeah – it's dumb."

A tall, lanky man, strikingly reminiscent of Alexander's father, strode to the front of the hall, instantly kindling a sense of aversion in Alexander. "Welcome to Athanor Academy!" he announced in a voice that demanded attention, silencing the murmurs of the room. "You all have been invited here to begin your studies to become Archivists..."

He introduced himself as Dr. Alaric Hawthorne, the headmaster of the academy. His speech then unfolded in a steady, resonant tone, detailing the critical role of Archivists who, in close partnership with Executioners, safeguarded the world against paranormal disruptions. Dr. Hawthorne elaborated on the operations of the Council of the Paranormal, a governing body that convened regularly to issue directives to Executioners tasked with neutralizing paranormal threats. He emphasized that Archivists played a crucial role in coordinating these efforts, ensuring that each threat was not only identified but thoroughly eradicated, maintaining the delicate balance between the mundane and the magical.

Cyril elbowed Alexander, breaking through the monotony of the lecture. "So basically, we're like Q for James Bond," he whispered.

Alexander stifled a laugh, playing along with the analogy. "Yeah, and the council is like MI6."

Cyril quietly chortled, leaning closer. "I'd rather be Bond than Q, don't you think?"

Alexander nodded, the thought sparking a brief escape into a fantasy where danger and excitement ruled over dusty books and ancient lore. The idea of being more action-oriented, like Bond, seemed far more appealing than their roles as behind-the-scenes orchestrators.

Alexander's first day at Athanor Academy, despite his initial reservations, started off on a surprisingly positive note. After the introductory lecture, he and the other students received their class schedules and dorm room assignments. His schedule was filled with intriguing courses like "Introduction to Occultism," "Linguistics of Arcane Languages," and "Alchemic Science." The day promised to be packed with back-to-back classes that genuinely sparked his interest.

Additionally, they were informed that each student would be assigned a mentor, a faculty member responsible for ensuring their academic progress. Alexander's heart sank a little when he saw that he had been assigned to Dr. Alaric Hawthorne, the headmaster himself. While Alexander was often naturally gifted in his studies, he preferred to engage in less scholarly pursuits whenever possible. Typically, he relied on his natural charm to negotiate extensions on assignments or excuses to skip lectures. However, he sensed that Dr. Hawthorne was not the type to be swayed easily.