The morning air was crisp, laced with the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine as Lor lingered at the academy gate, his boots scuffing against the cobblestones.
The stone arch loomed above, its carved runes glinting in the early sunlight, a silent sentinel to the tide of students pouring through.
Their voices swelled around him—a chaotic symphony of excitement about the upcoming tournament, complaints about spell theory homework, and whispered gossip about rumors.
The energy was electric, a living current that pulsed through the crowd, but Lor stood still, an island in the stream, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag until the leather creaked.
Kiara might be in there, her icy-blue eyes cutting through the throng.
Miss Silvia might be in there too, her auburn hair catching the light, her glasses hiding the witch beneath the teacher's mask.
The thought made his chest tighten, a knot of anticipation and dread twisting beneath his ribs.
