The academy did not lack people.
It lacked continuity.
Students rotated in and out of assignments. Parties formed and dissolved. Names were learned briefly, then forgotten just as quickly when schedules shifted or injuries forced withdrawals.
Still, some faces repeated.
Rhea Morn was one of them.
She specialized in barrier constructs—thin, layered shields designed to redirect force rather than absorb it. Not flashy, but reliable. She complained constantly about mana fatigue and still showed up early every morning.
"You don't sleep, do you?" she asked once, watching me review my interface while others stretched.
"I sleep when necessary."
She snorted. "Figures."
There was also Tovin Kel, a spear-user from the southern lowlands. Strong arms, poor mana control. He compensated with stubbornness, forcing progress through repetition and pain.
"I hit the wall again," he muttered one afternoon, rubbing his shoulder. "Third time this month."
"You'll recover," Elian said, offering water.
Tovin laughed bitterly. "Easy for you to say. You pace yourself."
He glanced at me. "Some people don't even see walls."
I ignored the comment.
These people weren't friends. Not really. But they were present. They trained beside us. Ate at the same long tables. Complained about instructors and laughed at rumors.
They made the academy feel… real.
That was why their absence stood out.
Two names stopped appearing on rosters the following week.
Lysa Renn.Kerric Dane.
Lower-tier candidates. Nothing remarkable. Both assigned to peripheral patrols.
Their removal was quiet. No announcement. Just updated schedules.
Rhea noticed first.
"Did you hear anything about Lysa?" she asked Elian. "She missed morning drills."
"No," he said. "Why?"
"She never misses."
I didn't join the conversation.
I had already seen the report.