The next few weeks fell into a surprisingly mundane rhythm.
And I got to experience the profound, exhausting boredom of being a regular student.
We attended lectures, sparred in the combat halls, and spent the evenings studying, or in Kyle's case, complaining about studying while Sira threatened him with physical violence.
The fallout from the Valen estate was old news now. Marcus was gone, Emma was back to her self, and my business in Oakmere was thriving.
It was almost too peaceful.
And of course, at the Royal Academy, peace never actually lasts.
It started on a Tuesday morning. We were sitting in Professor Vance's theory class.
The hall was filled with the usual scratching of quills and low murmurs, right up until Vance deliberately set his chalk down on his heavy oak desk. The sharp clack instantly silenced the room.
Professor Vance turned to face the tiered seating, sweeping his strict, analytical gaze over the students.
