The heavy silence that had hung in the amphitheater-like classroom after Jet Ashborne's arrival shattered when the main doors swung open once more.
A tall man entered, his presence both commanding and oddly soothing at the same time. His hair was pale silver, long enough to brush the collar of his dark coat, and his eyes gleamed like frost-tipped glaciers—cold but full of light. Despite his youthful face, there was an ageless air about him, as though he had walked through more winters than anyone could count.
"Good morning, students," the man said, his voice even and resonant. "I am Frost Winister, your primary instructor for the Foundation Curriculum."
The room stirred.
Even the more stoic students shifted in their seats, the weight of his reputation settling on them. Frost Winister was no ordinary teacher. Rumors painted him as a Dragon Hunter who had survived battles against creatures that should have been impossible to face alone.
