The battlefield still steamed from the clash of clashing magic, the acrid smoke of broken spells hanging in the air like the breath of dying gods. The aftermath of our ambush had reshaped the war board. Rayne Thorne, the proud prince of the Galat Empire, had retreated. His confidence was cracked. His faction, once a disciplined legion, was now scattered and broken. His claim to the Student Council throne was unstable.
And yet, I knew this wasn't a victory. It was only the beginning of a more dangerous, more intricate game.
