The walk back from the eastern sector felt longer than the run out there had.
Vane moved through the shifting borderline where the fog gave way to the manicured perfection of the main campus. The smell of smoke and cold ash clung to his uniform. It was a sharp contrast to the scent of night-blooming jasmine and expensive arcanic ozone that permeated the student districts.
He carried the star-metal spear wrapped in the burnt remnants of a blanket strapped across his back. It wasn't physically heavy. He had lifted far heavier things in the Body Lab. But it felt massive. Every step jarred his spine with the phantom weight of the history it held.
Students were milling about the common greens laughing and complaining about homework tossing casual spells back and forth. A group of second-year Fire-aspects were having a loud argument about the merits of different combustion catalysts.
