The Archivist

Chapter 5

After Cyril neatly stowed away his final piece of clothing, the pair decided to venture out. Despite the stern warnings given during their orientation—that leaving campus during the first year was strictly forbidden—they felt compelled to explore beyond the academy's boundaries. The rule at Athanor Academy was that the freedom to leave campus was a privilege granted only to senior students, those nearing the completion of their training who were then assigned to apprentice with executioners to handle paranormal threats in controlled environments.

As they quietly slipped past the academy's boundaries, Alexander found it surprisingly easy to sneak out—much easier than slipping out of his own home, a feat he had mastered since turning thirteen. To his astonishment, there were no guards or elaborate security systems in place, no alarms to evade. This lack of security made him question the academy's strict policies; it seemed almost contradictory that an institution so firm on rules would have such lax physical enforcement. Their unchallenged escape added a thrill to their adventure, but it also planted seeds of curiosity in Alexander's mind about the academy's true nature and the real reasons behind such restrictions.

The Black Dog is a rustic, somewhat out-of-the-way pub that offers a stark contrast to the regal and eerie atmosphere of Athanor Academy. Nestled at the edge of the small town near the academy, it exudes a warm and welcoming vibe that was palpable even on the outside. The building is old, with weathered brick walls and a thatched roof that seems to whisper stories of yesteryears. The heavy wooden door, studded with iron, swings open to reveal an interior glowing with the light from oil lamps and a large, crackling fireplace that dominates one wall.

Inside, the pub is furnished with sturdy, mismatched wooden tables and chairs that have clearly seen many years of use. The floors are wooden and creak underfoot, scattered with hand-woven rugs that add a touch of homeliness. The walls are adorned with an eclectic mix of decorations—old black-and-white photos of the town, vintage beer advertisements, and various bits of historical memorabilia that give a nod to local legends and lore.

The bar itself is a long, polished mahogany affair, behind which stands an impressive array of spirits and ales, some local brews, and others from distant parts of the world. As they moved up to the bar, the bartender, a middle-aged man with a robust build and a rugged, family face called out to them. "New blood! Welcome!" He pulled out two Pabst Blue Ribbons and winked "On the house, boys! Name is Tom." Alexander looked at Cyril. "How did you know about this place?"

Cyril leaned back against the bar, setting down his now empty glass with a satisfied thud. "Heard about it from some upperclassmen last year," he replied, his eyes scanning the room with an amused twinkle. "They said if you want to escape the academy's shadows, this is the place to be. Plus, Tom here is not just a bartender; he's a bit of a legend. Knows more about the occult than half the professors at Athanor."

Tom chuckled from behind the bar, overhearing Cyril's compliment. "I've had my years to collect stories and spirits, both the drinkable and the haunting kind," he said with a grin, polishing a glass. "You boys look like you could use a place to unwind. The Black Dog sees many like you, seeking a bit of the real world—or at least as real as it gets around these parts."

Alexander took another sip of his beer, letting the atmosphere of the pub wash over him. The warmth from the fireplace fought off the evening chill that had begun to seep through the walls, and the soft hum of conversation provided a comforting background noise. He observed the patrons more closely now. A woman with shimmering silver hair laughed heartily at a joke, her laugh almost musical, while a man with deep-set eyes and an almost imperceptible aura of smoke about him nodded along to a story being told by a young couple with sharp, attentive gazes.

The diversity of the crowd was intriguing. It was clear that many were not ordinary locals; their mannerisms, the subtle hints of otherness, suggested ties to the supernatural world that Cyril had hinted at. It made Alexander wonder about the stories they could tell, the secrets they might know.

Feeling more relaxed, he turned back to Cyril. "So, this place is a sanctuary for those touched by the supernatural?" he asked, his curiosity piqued by the understated strangeness of the patrons.

"Something like that," Cyril responded with a mysterious smile. "It's a crossroads, you could say. A spot where different paths meet, and different worlds overlap. The academy keeps us cloistered, but here, you get a glimpse of the broader tapestry. Stick with me, Alex. There's much to learn, and not all from books and lectures."