"The Inquisition, the Academy, and the Moo Entrance Exam" 🐄📜🔥
If you had told Tomlin Hayfield a month ago that he'd be attending an Academy for Spirit Tamers, he'd have laughed you straight off the farm, probably while tripping over a rake for comedic emphasis.
Now, he wasn't laughing.
He was sweating through his best (and only) clean tunic, standing in a vast sunlit courtyard surrounded by glowing runes that hummed like busy bees, floating stones that bobbed lazily in the air like drunk bubbles, and dozens of smug teenagers in flowing robes embroidered with silver threads that caught the light and practically winked at him.
Beside him, Bessy flicked her tail with the casual confidence of someone who'd already decided she owned the place.
"You sure this is the right place?" she asked, sniffing the air thick with ozone, old parchment, and the faint, haughty perfume of teenage superiority. "I don't see any spirit tamers—just a bunch of overconfident candle-snuffers playing with sparkles."
"Bessy," Tomlin hissed, wiping his damp forehead with a sleeve that now clung like a guilty conscience, "please, we're here because the Queen personally recommended me! Let's try not to offend anyone before the exam even starts."
"No promises," she replied cheerfully, chewing on a stray daisy someone had dropped in awe earlier.
🌟 The Spirit Tamers' Academy of Verdelune
A sprawling citadel of impossibly tall glass towers that caught the sunlight and scattered rainbows across moss-covered stone arches, where the air always smelled faintly of lightning, lavender, and ancient secrets. It was said that the strongest tamers could command storms with a whisper, speak to dragons over tea, or even summon the spirits of ancient heroes for advice on laundry day.
Tomlin just wanted to go home to his quiet barn that smelled of honest hay and zero expectations.
The head examiner—a tall, imposing man with silver hair that flowed like liquid moonlight and a voice that could polish steel—stepped onto the raised marble platform with a dramatic swirl of his indigo robes.
"Welcome, prospective apprentices," he intoned, the words ringing clear over the courtyard like perfectly struck bells. "Today, you will demonstrate your spiritual affinity. Those who succeed will join our hallowed halls. Those who fail… may try again next year. Or pursue a sensible trade."
"What happens if they explode?" Bessy asked loudly, voice carrying like a trumpet in church.
The entire courtyard went dead silent, save for the soft hum of floating stones and one nervous cough.
The examiner blinked slowly, as though rebooting. "…What?"
"Just asking," Bessy said innocently, batting her lashes. "I like to know my odds. Safety first."
The crowd erupted into a tidal wave of whispers that rustled like autumn leaves.
"Is that… the Sacred Cow?"
"She talks! Actually talks!"
"Maybe she's a legendary Spirit Beast in disguise!"
"Wait—that farmer—he's her tamer?!"
Tomlin buried his face in his hands, feeling the heat of a thousand stares. "Oh no. Not again. Not here."
⚡ The Spirit Affinity Test
One by one, students stepped forward to the ancient crystal orb mounted on a pedestal of carved ivory—its surface swirling with soft, expectant light that smelled faintly of summer rain.
Some candidates made it glow gentle blue (Water affinity), others fiery red (Fire), a few pure white (Light). The best—a proud young noble with twin silver daggers and hair that defied gravity—placed his hand dramatically and summoned a shimmering hawk spirit that swooped overhead with a piercing cry, feathers of pure light scattering like glitter.
Thunderous applause echoed off the towers, accompanied by impressed oohs and one swooning sigh.
Then it was Tomlin's turn.
The examiner eyed him skeptically, one silver brow arched like a drawn bow. "Farmer… Hayfield, is it? You're not on our mage registry. And your companion—?"
"Bessy," she supplied helpfully, stepping forward so her ribbons fluttered in the magical breeze. "Professional divine cow, part-time emotional support disaster, and full-time critic of subpar hay."
"…Right," the examiner said faintly. "Proceed."
Tomlin hesitantly placed his calloused hand on the cool, smooth crystal.
It flickered faintly—like a candle in a draft. Then—nothing.
Snickers rippled through the robed students like wind through wheat.
"A non-talent," someone muttered loudly. "Probably only here because of royal favoritism."
Tomlin sighed, shoulders slumping. "Well, that's that. At least we tried—"
Suddenly, the crystal burst into blinding golden light that flooded the courtyard like warm honey spilled from the sun.
A deep, resonant moo echoed through the air—rich, rolling, and utterly unmistakable.
The orb spun wildly on its pedestal, glowing brighter and brighter until it exploded into a radiant mist that swirled upward and coalesced into—
"A cow made of pure light!" someone gasped.
Indeed. A massive, majestic spectral cow floated serenely above the courtyard, its translucent form shimmering with divine sparkle. Ethereal flowers bloomed instantly where its glowing hooves brushed the stones, filling the air with the sudden sweet perfume of a thousand meadows.
Bessy smirked so hard her cheeks dimpled.
"Oh, look," she said casually. "I have a fan club in the spirit realm. They even got the spots right."
The examiner stared in open-mouthed shock, staff clattering forgotten to the ground. "This… this energy! It's divine-class resonance! No human has ever achieved such purity—"
"Technically," Bessy interrupted with perfect timing, "he's just borrowing my aura. Great signal booster."
The crowd gasped in perfect unison. The noble with the hawk spirit turned a shade of green that clashed horribly with his robes.
🐮 "Team Moo" Makes History
The examiner cleared his throat multiple times, as if trying to dislodge awe. "I… I suppose we must accept you both. Farmer Tomlin Hayfield and his… divine familiar, Bessy the Radiant, into the Academy with full honors."
"Good choice," Bessy said, striking a pose that somehow looked both regal and smug. "You won't regret it. Probably."
The other tamers eyed them warily—some with wide-eyed awe, others with the sour expression of someone who'd just realized their hawk was no longer the coolest thing in the sky.
After the ceremony, a pink-haired girl with mischievous eyes and a fluffy fox spirit curled around her shoulders approached Tomlin, boots crunching on newly bloomed petals.
"You're the Druid of Verdelune, right?" she asked, grinning like she'd just found a new toy. "The one who healed the Prince with laughter and superior bovine wisdom?"
Tomlin rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks warming. "Sort of. Mostly my cow did the heavy lifting."
The girl's grin widened. "I'm Lira. Third-class candidate, fox spirit specialist, and official welcomer of interesting disasters. I'll be watching you two. Closely."
"Careful," Bessy warned with a wink. "He blushes easily. Turns the color of overripe tomatoes."
Tomlin turned exactly that shade. "BESSY!"
🔮 The Academy's New Rumor
By sundown, as the sky bled into lavender and gold and the scent of evening jasmine drifted from the academy gardens, the entire Spirit Tamers' Academy buzzed with gossip louder than a hive of caffeinated bees.
"A farmer with divine resonance?"
"His familiar is literally holy—and sassy!"
"They say he tamed a celestial cow with nothing but questionable hay and stubbornness!"
Meanwhile, Tomlin sat in his new dorm room—small but cozy, with a window overlooking twinkling tower lights—holding the crisp academy uniform in disbelief. The fabric was soft as goose down and embroidered with tiny glowing runes that gently pulsed.
"I can't believe we actually got in," he said, voice muffled by exhaustion and wonder.
"Believe it," Bessy replied, sprawled across his narrow bed like a queen claiming new territory, ribbons tangled adorably in the pillows. "We're officially scholars now. Next step: take over the curriculum."
Tomlin groaned, flopping beside her. "Please don't."
"Too late," she said smugly. "I already applied to teach Advanced Moo-mancy. Syllabus includes Sarcasm 101 and How to Ruin a Farmer's Day with One Sentence."
Outside, the moon rose high above the glass towers, silvering the courtyard where the new crystal cow statue—hastily commissioned and still smelling of fresh chisel dust—glowed faintly…
as if another spirit had just awakened, stretching ethereal legs and wondering what all the fuss was about.
And in the shadows of the west tower, cloaked figures whispered urgently, voices low as rustling robes:
"So, the Holy Beast has entered our domain."
"Then the prophecy is true. The Balance shifts again."
Tomlin didn't know it yet, but his quiet farm life was now officially ancient history—replaced by glowing cows, teenage drama, and whatever "Moo-mancy" entailed.
He was doomed.
Delightfully, ridiculously doomed
"Dorm Life, Spirit Ranks, and the Curse of Morning Classes" 🐄📚🌞
Tomlin had survived wars of words with Bessy, royal audiences, pudding avalanches, and an entire cult of cow-worshippers who still sent him embroidered handkerchiefs with tiny moo motifs…
But nothing—absolutely nothing—could prepare him for the true trial of his life:
Academy mornings.
☀️ The Spirit Tamers' Daily Grind
The day at the Spirit Tamers' Academy of Verdelune began with the toll of the Sun Bell—a massive bronze monster perched atop the central tower that rang five times at dawn with the enthusiasm of an overcaffeinated rooster. The deep, booming notes vibrated through marble walls, rattled windows, and made every spirit beast in the dorms groan in collective misery—or, in Bessy's case, deliver a long, dramatic moo of protest that echoed down the corridor like a foghorn of despair.
"Moooo—five bells already?!" Bessy bellowed from her oversized straw-stuffed mattress (custom-ordered after she refused to sleep on anything less than "queenly"). "Who schedules classes before breakfast? Sadists? Goblins? Sadistic goblins?"
Tomlin dragged himself out of bed with all the grace of a sack of potatoes rolling downhill, half-asleep, his new academy uniform already wrinkled beyond repair from one night of restless tossing. He still couldn't figure out how to tie the ceremonial belt correctly—it kept ending up lopsided like a drunken sash—and Bessy insisted the flowing indigo fabric made him look like "a confused potato wrapped in expensive silk."
The academy grounds buzzed with life as soon as the echoes faded. Students and their companions spilled onto the winding paths: wolves made of crackling flame that left warm paw prints on the stone, translucent birds of wind that whistled cheerful tunes, even a talking stone golem with a gravelly voice and a permanent attitude problem who grumbled about "kids these days" to anyone within earshot.
Tomlin and Bessy definitely stood out—like a hay bale at a ballroom.
"Morning, Druid!" called a passing classmate, waving enthusiastically.
"Hey, holy cow!" shouted another, nearly tripping over their own lightning ferret.
"Can you bless my goat? He's been moody!" pleaded a third, holding up a tiny spirit goat that bleated in agreement.
Bessy waved her tail modestly, ribbons fluttering in the crisp morning breeze that carried the mouthwatering scent of fresh bread from the canteen ovens. "Form a line, mortals. Blessings are first-come, first-served. Tips in pie accepted."
Tomlin sighed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "This is my life now, isn't it? Eternal sidekick to a celebrity cow."
"You're welcome," Bessy replied smugly, already accepting a proffered apple from an awestruck first-year.
🔮 Spirit Power System: The Path of Resonance
In Spirit Taming, every student's power was measured not by muscle, flashy spells, or noble bloodlines—but by Resonance Rank, the deep harmony between tamer and spirit. The rankings were posted on glowing notice boards that smelled faintly of ozone and ambition.
Rank 1 – Flicker: Beginner tamers. Can sense minor spirits and maybe get a polite hello from a breeze.
Rank 2 – Ember: Can manifest elemental bursts for brief, dramatic moments—usually followed by singed eyebrows.
Rank 3 – Bond: True synchronization—tamer and spirit share strength, emotions, and occasionally embarrassing memories.
Rank 4 – Merge: Temporary fusion of energies. Physical and magical boosts that make you feel invincible… until the headache hits.
Rank 5 – Ascendant: Rare. Spirit manifests a true, glorious form—a divine or ancient aspect that turns heads and starts rumors.
Rank 6 – Eternal: Legendary. Spirit becomes immortal, bound forever to the tamer's soul. Usually accompanied by epic ballads and jealous classmates.
Tomlin's problem? He didn't even know what rank he was.
According to the still-flustered examiner, his Resonance was "off the charts—possibly chart-breaking."
According to Bessy, as they trudged toward class across dew-kissed grass that sparkled like scattered diamonds, he was "still an unripe turnip spiritually. Maybe Rank 3 on a good day with strong coffee. Rank 0 when you forget breakfast and trip over air."
🏫 Classroom of Controlled Chaos
Their homeroom teacher, Professor Rilwen, was a stern elf woman with luminous silver eyes, hair like moonlight on water, and patience thinner than parchment left too close to a candle.
"Today," she announced in a voice cool as mountain springs, "we will practice Spirit Synchronization. Pair up, focus your resonance, and link minds. Those who fail may experience temporary unconsciousness. Or spontaneous hair loss."
Tomlin gulped so loudly it echoed. "Lose hair?"
"Don't worry," Bessy said cheerfully, settling onto the polished wooden floor with a soft thump. "You've got plenty to spare. I'll catch it if it flies off—might make a nice nest lining."
The class formed circles on woven mats that smelled of lavender and old magic. Tamers sat cross-legged, spirits hovering or lounging beside them, the room humming with soft energy and nervous whispers.
Tomlin closed his eyes, reaching for that warm golden thread he'd felt during the exam—the link between his soul and Bessy's. Warm light bloomed behind his eyelids. A gentle hum filled his ears like distant bees. His vision blurred—and suddenly he was seeing through Bessy's eyes.
He saw himself sitting awkwardly on the floor, mouth slightly open, looking both amazed and mildly terrified—like a man who'd just realized he'd left the barn door open in a storm.
"Whoa," he said aloud, voice echoing strangely in both bodies. "This is… incredible! I can taste the lavender in the mats!"
"And now you know exactly how handsome I think you aren't," Bessy teased, her voice ringing clear in his mind like warm bells.
He broke the link instantly, face flaming redder than a fire spirit's feathers.
"Okay, that's enough bonding for today. Forever, maybe."
Professor Rilwen's eyebrow arched so high it nearly vanished into her hairline, but the corner of her mouth twitched—almost a smile.
🍽️ Lunchtime: The Great Canteen Catastrophe
The cafeteria was chaos incarnate—a vast hall with vaulted ceilings where echoes bounced like mischievous spirits, long tables groaning under platters of steaming roast vegetables, golden pastries flaky enough to shatter, and soups that bubbled invitingly. The air was thick with the heavenly scents of herbs, fresh bread, and occasional singed feathers.
Spirit beasts bickered over portions: a fire hawk tried to flambé a salad for "extra flavor," someone's water spirit gleefully flooded an entire table in protest of dry bread, and a tiny storm cloud familiar sulked overhead, dripping on anyone who looked at it funny.
Tomlin just wanted a quiet bowl of soup and maybe a roll that hadn't been charred.
But Bessy was having the time of her life.
"Free hay buffet! Divine dining!" she crowed, trotting straight to the enchanted feed trough that refilled itself with premium clover and alfalfa. She then proceeded to the serving counter, giving unsolicited "menu advice" to bewildered students.
"Don't get the carrot stew—smells like regret and overcooked ambition."
"That pie's got emotional baggage. Heavy on the cinnamon, light on joy."
Within minutes, a crowd had formed around her like pilgrims at a particularly tasty shrine, hanging on every word as if she were critiquing the fate of kingdoms instead of lunch.
Tomlin sighed, retreating to a corner table with his untouched soup, steam curling lazily upward.
A few other students slid in across from him: Lira with her fluffy pink fox spirit curled around her neck like a living scarf, Kane—a brooding swordsman type with dark hair and a massive shadow wolf that eyed the soup suspiciously—and Mira, a bubbly healer with bouncy curls and a flower spirit that bloomed tiny daisies wherever she laughed.
"So," Lira said, smirking around a mouthful of pie, "how does it feel being the first farmer to outshine stuck-up nobles before breakfast?"
Tomlin chuckled weakly, stirring his soup into sad little whirlpools. "Honestly? Terrifying. Like waiting for the other hoof to drop."
Kane crossed his arms, wolf familiar growling low in agreement. "You've got raw potential. But the Academy's Spirit Duel Trials are next week. Real combat. Let's see how your… divine cow handles pressure."
"Combat?" Bessy perked up from across the hall, ears swiveling like radar dishes. "Does that include snacks? Victory pie?"
Mira giggled, her flower spirit sprinkling petals onto the table. "I like your cow. She's fabulous."
"Everyone does," Bessy called back, accepting another nose rub from an admirer. "I'm the unofficial mascot now. Thinking of licensing my likeness for the cafeteria trays."
🌙 Evening at the Dorm
The day finally ended with bone-deep exhaustion. Tomlin collapsed face-first into his bed, half-asleep before his boots hit the floor with twin thuds.
Bessy stood by the wide arched window, moonlight silvering her coat and making the academy towers outside look like glowing spears against the starry sky. The cool night breeze carried faint hints of jasmine and distant campfire smoke from the training fields.
"You did well today, Druid," she said softly, voice losing its usual sharp edge.
Tomlin yawned into his pillow, words muffled. "You think so? I only almost lost consciousness once."
"You didn't explode, set anything on fire, or accidentally summon a herd of spectral turnips. That's a victory."
He smiled faintly, eyes already closing. "Bessy… why do you stick with me? You could've chosen anyone—someone noble, powerful, competent…"
"Because no one else would listen," she murmured, turning to look at him with eyes that caught the moonlight like warm gold. "And because… someone has to make sure you eat breakfast before you trip over your own destiny."
He chuckled sleepily, the sound soft in the quiet room. "Fair enough."
"Rest, Farmer-Tamer," she said, flicking her tail gently. A soft, golden wind stirred through the dorm, rustling curtains and carrying the faint scent of summer meadows. "Tomorrow, we begin your official Rank evaluation. And maybe—just maybe—you'll stop looking like a startled goat during synchronization."
Somewhere deep in the academy's ancient foundations, the massive Spirit Core—an enormous crystal heart that powered every ward and whisper of magic—pulsed once, warmly…
as if recognizing a new, utterly ridiculous, but undeniably powerful kind of bond.
And outside, under the watchful moon, a few late-night students swore they heard a distant, contented moo echoing across the towers—like the academy itself was laughing along.