The dimly lit history classroom hummed with the monotonous drone of Professor Eldrin's lecture. The old man, a walking relic with a beard that seemed to contain the dust of forgotten empires, was rambling on about the Third Dragon War. I had slumped in the back row, my head pillowed on my folded arms, the world a blurry, uninteresting smudge. Beside me, Sasha Whitehall sat rigidly straight, her posture a testament to a lifetime of disciplined knightly training. Her quill scratched across a sheet of pristine parchment, her notes perfect, her focus absolute.
[System: You do realize this is "Great Betrayals in Magical History"? Might be relevant for a professional backstabber like you.]
I ignored the jab, letting my eyelids droop shut. The professor's voice faded into a meaningless background noise, a lullaby of ancient violence and political treachery.
