The sun rose like an artist's brushstroke over the Academy grounds, painting the skies in hues of amber and fire. A light, cool wind carried the scent of fresh pastries from the baking guild's stall, the savory aroma of grilled meats from the beastkin vendors, and the faint, sweet tang of arcane incense through the main plaza. Colorful flags, bearing the sigils of a hundred noble houses, fluttered from the towering spires. Enchanted streamers, shimmering with iridescent mana trails, danced along the rooftops like captive rainbows. Music played in the distance—the soft, ethereal notes of an elven flute, the jaunty strumming of a human lyre, and the deep, resonant beat of a strange beastkin drum made from the hollowed-out tusks of a great boar.
It was the opening day of the Academy Fest.
And for the first time in my strange, violent, second-chance life, I felt something more dangerous than battle hunger, more potent than the thirst for revenge.
Anticipation.
