Grand Lecture Hall A looked almost exactly as Lucavion remembered it.
The same vaulted ceiling rose far above the rows of blackstone desks, its old arches wrapped in faded runic filigree and the crests of houses whose names had been carved into the Academy long before anyone thought commoners belonged beneath them. Mana-lamps hung between the arches in suspended rings, their light pale beneath the stronger morning glow entering through the upper windows, while more than a hundred students gradually filled the descending rows below.
Lucavion had already taken his seat.
This time, he had arrived early enough to avoid walking through an entire hall of people turning their heads toward him, which he considered a rare example of personal growth.
'Or exhaustion.'
Probably exhaustion.
