“What greater gift than the love of a cat.”

- Charles Dickens

Impressions:

A room with a floor in the shape of a sundial, the needle was a great column carved with the symbols of the unknown god of time sometimes called the watcher. A young-looking man explained to the students the intricacies of a schematic detailing a rune that should, if properly carved, measure time in a more objective manner than simply guessing. For, as he said, to manipulate something you have to first know what is there. Alea took notes and focused diligently.

The top of a tower, parapets rising chest-high, pennants fluttering in the wind. A group of students tried to keep their belongings from flying off in the greedy paws of the stiff wind. Mireille looked as if she had a headache coming on. The teacher, a middle-aged woman thin as a stick, taught them the elemental tongue of air, Auram, and she did take no shortcuts. ‘What have I done to deserve this!?’ The red-head thought to herself while she at least tried to look attentive. ‘If this decides my success and failure I should talk to Vanessa again.’

And then it was late in the afternoon.

Mireille wandered aimlessly about the campus, she had some time left to kill before her ‘Sword One’ lessons began. She was still miffed at the title. ‘How about: Swordcraft, from apprentice to master in four seasons; And it does cut it! Swords for everyone; Stick them with the pointy end...no that was not it.’

A small and piteous ‘Meow’ sounded and she looked around curiously. The corner of the academy she found herself in was nearly deserted. ‘I should have grabbed something more substantial than bread and cheese if I am going to miss dinner.’ She thought while still scanning her surroundings.

‘Meow, mrrrrow. Meeeow.’ She looked up. A tall tree leaned against a dormitory that looked to have seen better times. Plaster was cracked and some cracks even showed the brick beneath. The tree was a chestnut tree and the hard nuts littered the ground. A small blue-grey, fluffy cat with golden eyes sat on one of the highest branches and fluttered with its wings. ‘Stop. Wings?!’ The thought hit her.

The cat had the wings of a kestrel hawk and there were some feathers mixed into its fur, she knew because a friend of her grandma had been a minor noble and often went hunting with one. The eyes seemed to be hawk-eyes also. ‘Meow’- it, she did not want to guess the gender, pawed at the bark, and some flaked off. ‘Sharp claws. Mh.’ The meowing got more piteous as it seemed to have realized she was contemplating rescuing it.

She looked around but there was no one there. “Why don’t you fly down? You have got two perfect wings there!”

‘Meowwrr.’

“Mh. You don’t know how?”

‘Mrrrow.’

‘That is going nowhere fast. Nothing to it, can't let it hang in there, this area is deserted and perhaps it would have to wait until the next morning. Poor thing.’

Grabbing a low-hanging branch she levered herself up and began to climb. Soon she reached branches that did not seem exactly stable anymore. “Here kitty, kitty!”

The hawk-winged cat regarded her suspiciously.

“Come here, I can't get to where you are!” She tried to shimmy a bit closer, but the branch creaked alarmingly.

‘Meow’

She stretched out a hand and the cat looked at that with its head tilted to the side. Then it pawed the hand, but thankfully not with claws extended.

“That. Is. Not. Helpful.” Mireille looked stern. The cat looked flustered.

‘Meow’

She crept a bit closer, the branch made a snapping noise. ‘Noooooo…Nirileth!’

And then it was a tumble of branch, cat, and Mireille. The cat spread its wings and glided to the ground. Mireille concentrated and spat the word “Eralasselyanthinar”, the world slowed down and she turned, catlike, in the air before catching the force of the fall with her legs, knees bending with the impact. A ring of lightning accompanied by a gust of wind scattered and toasted a few of the chestnuts and crisped the grass. Letting go of the magic she looked around as the last sparks shot into the evening air.

‘Meow’

The cat sat some few meters from her and was licking its paw. She felt her legs and ankles and finding nothing amiss she walked over and reached her hand towards the small creature which sniffed her cautiously. Then it began to purr and rubbed its head on her hand. “You know, I should be pretty pissed at you? Why did you not fly down before? Are you afraid of heights?!”

The cat looked up at the last one and seemed insulted and flapped its wings. A golden round pendant hung on its neck, she turned the small metal plate and read- ‘Semiramis, Owner: Reneus Flammensiegel.’

“Ah, you are that man's pet. That explains much.”

‘Meeeeoow.’

“You are a talkative one, aren't you?”

‘Purr.’

She tried lifting her, and the cat let her. “Oh, you are so soft and fluffy!” Mireille rubbed and petted the fur. The small feathers in its coat were predominantly on the sides of its neck and extremities.

“Ah, there you are!” A voice sounded from the direction of the dormitory and the professor in question, Reneus, walked over briskly. He looked sleepy and there were bags beneath his eyes. “Did you get caught on the tree again?”

‘Meow!”

“Good evening professor!”

“You are...Mireille arent you? You had an appointment with me to discuss a potential scholarship. I remember. Did Semiramis give you any grief? She is a very nice young lady but she can't seem to let go of the habits that come with her wings. And then it's the instincts of a cat that does not let her use them.”

“Why does she have them in the first place?”

“It's a sad story really, she is one of nearly two-dozen hybridized animals that were found in an unsanctioned laboratory catering to the more extreme tastes of people with more money than morals. The rest were mostly put out of their misery but Semiramis here is a special case. She has a bit of mana and can use some lesser air magic, which makes her patently unsuited for a ‘normal’ household. And as I was the senior magus on site she is now my charge.”

“Thank you for telling me, she is adorable.”

“If you want, come and play with her. I would be glad if someone expended some of her energy!”

“I will!”

The cat waved its paw and a gust of wind scattered the chestnuts even further.

“Semiramis!” Reneus scolded the innocent-looking cat.

Mireille said her farewell and went towards the training grounds set aside for her sword lesson.

About twenty students from all the different school years stood around a large dueling ring and listened to a broad-shouldered woman with close-cut dark blonde hair as she explained the coming class. She wore quilted armor with metal bracers and thick gloves. Her face was plain but she had a charismatic aura, the voice schooled on many a battlefield reached everyone without effort.

“Listen up! I am Julia Parka von Ulms Wall. I am a knight of the order of the Crimson Vow and I will try to teach you the art of swordcraft. Some of you perhaps did think learning the sword to be a good idea to impress the ladies, some might have thought it could complement their magical abilities. If there is anyone not completely serious about learning I would ask he or she excuse themselves before I waste all our time.” She looked around. Mireille began to feel a bit excited and a small anticipatory grin stole on her face.

“No one? We will see.” She pointed towards a rack leaning against the wall of a larger storehouse the overhanging roof protected it from all but the most intense rain. There were all sorts of swords- Longswords, broadswords, arming swords, dueling blades, and many more. Even some greatswords hung beside the rack from iron hooks driven into the wood.

“Take one that best fits your style. I will then explain a few drills that anyone should be able to do and then it's practice, practice, practice. If you do well I will find a sparring partner for you and then we will see if anyone might be suited to help with tutoring those that do not have a solid foundation already. Fear not, it will not be to his or her detriment as I will have more time for those more gifted and I will mark it down as academic merit. Any questions before we begin?”

A young red-haired girl with a ponytail asked, “Do we learn how to incorporate magic into the battle?”

“Not at this point. If everyone is a bit farther along learning the basics I might be inclined to teach some of you a bit of body-strengthening magic. It will be pretty necessary to even the field with those who already use it after all. Next!”

“Wouldnt it be more effective to teach us a single sword-type?” A slim boy with dark hair and glasses asked.

“It would, naturally. But this is not the army.” Mireille winced a bit at that. “And everyone will soon find that there is no single sword that fits everyone. So I will train you as a noble will be trained, as a single fighter that needs to have the weapon best suited for you and your body type and your level of skill and diligence. If we have the time I might give a few lessons on group tactics. It multiplies your effectiveness if you could better work together. But don’t hold your breath, getting to basic proficiency levels as I see it will take you most of the semester. Anyone else?”

No one lifted a hand.

“Then let’s begin!”

Mireille chose a long, thin-bladed weapon which Julia told her was named a ‘Degen’ it did have a broader blade than a rapier and was thus a bit more robust but also heavier. “For it to be effective against armor I would recommend a piercing enchantment or for the material to be at least on the level of mana-tempered steel.” The professor told her while inspecting the wooden practice weapon.

Then it was drills, drills, and drills. As she was highly dissatisfied with the fitness of some of the warriors-to-be she sent them running around the yard for the rest of the two and a half hours of their time.

Mireille went straight to Wisteria Dorm afterward and took a long shower in the bathtub. Feeling a bit better she put on some new clothes. Alyssa sat at her desk and was reading some text about Aquam, the language of water. Alea was mending a tear in her cloak with the cantrip Mireille had shown her.

A scratching sound came from the window. Everyone turned to look and Cyrus became agitated. ‘It’s a strange chimera.’ Asandria raised an eyebrow.

Mireille, having her suspicions went and opened the window. On the sill sat a somewhat bedraggled-looking Semiramis and held a dead mouse in her teeth. With a ‘plop’ she let the gored rodent fall onto Mireille's hand. “Aah, gross.” The so gifted shook her hand and the mouse flew towards Alyssa, Cyrus flapped his wings and pressed the small white-haired girl onto the table before he snatched the still warm prey out of the air. He landed, still flapping his wings for stability, and eyed the cat with a more favorable expression.

‘Meow.’

“What in all the world is that?” Alea asked.

“Oh, look at those feathers, she looks so cute.” Alyssa looked delighted as she had straightened herself.

“This is Semiramis, I think she did want to thank me?” Mireille looked at the cat questioningly.

“Meow.”

“You should work on the range of your vocabulary.”

“Mrrrow.”

“Exactly."