The morning sun burned crimson over the academy's combat grounds as I stalked through the training fields like a predator marking its territory. My shadow stretched unnaturally long behind me, twisting with a restless energy that mirrored the storm in my soul.
[System: Someone's feeling dramatic today.]
Quiet.
Ahead, near the obsidian dueling platform where students practiced their bladework, Headmaster Evelyn stood surrounded by a coterie of nobles—each one more venomous than the last. There was Lady Voxx, Nyx's mother, her crimson eyes sharp enough to flay skin and her lips curled into a permanent sneer. Beside her stood a silver-haired elf with Seraphina's pointed ears but none of her grace; his face was a mask of twisted, permanent disdain. And then there was Duke Whitehound, Eren and Noora's father, his gilded armor gleaming under the sun like a direct challenge to anyone who dared to look at him.
