Principal Whitmore sat in contemplative silence, his weathered fingers steepled as he reviewed the reports from Sarah Millbrook's duel earlier that morning. The viewing crystal on his desk displayed a clear image of the arena below, where Gareth Thorne was desperately weaving between Petra Blackthorne's relentless stone projectiles. Even from this distance, he could see the tactical awareness in the boy's movements, though Petra maintained clear control of the match.
He leaned back in his leather chair, a slight smile playing at his lips as he considered the previous event. Sarah's victory over Roderick Veilmont had been educational. The girl's time manipulation ability had proven far more refined than her initial file suggested, though still dangerously uncontrolled when pushed to extremes. Veilmont's family would be nursing wounded pride for weeks, but more importantly, the message had been sent clearly to the established nobility.
