The room was massive, drenched in history and pride.
Faded paintings lined the stone walls—each one depicting legendary human generals, their faces stern, their armor cracked with time. Some held spears. Others swords. Their poses were frozen in mid-battle, eyes burning with defiance even through layers of age-worn paint.
The banners above them hung stiff and silent, their gold thread frayed but still gleaming. Every corner of the chamber whispered the same message:
Power. Legacy. Pride.
And in the center of it all chaos.
Kael Arkezen sat floating cross-legged in the air, spinning lazily in a chair made entirely of mana.
Below him, suspended in the center of the room, was Xavier Quinn unconscious, bloodied, and bound in glowing mana chains that crackled with containment seals.
Facing Kael was Vice Principal Varian Raiklan, his dark cloak rustling as he paced.
His voice snapped like a whip.
