Chapter 86: The Wildlands Directive
The morning sun bled through the high glass windows of the Special Class training hall.
The ten students were not sitting at their desks.
They were gathered in a loose circle on the sparring mats, leaning against the walls or resting their hands on their weapons.
The petty rivalries from a week ago were dead. Surviving a war together had burned away the arrogance, leaving behind a quiet, heavy camaraderie.
Sitting alone in the back row, Draven Mordis took a slow sip of his black coffee. He was in class, actively ignoring Academy protocol, and completely uncaring of the consequences.
CLACK.
The heavy steel doors swung inward.
The quiet murmurs vanished.
The students snapped to attention as their senior Combat Instructor, Garrick Stonehelm, marched into the room. His weathered face was grim.
"Take your seats," Instructor Stonehelm barked.
"We have a new student joining this class today! You know him very well."
