The morning chimes of Zenith Academy rang out with a hollow clarity that seemed to strip the warmth from the air. It had been four weeks since the start of the second semester. Four weeks of grinding somatic drills, arcanic calculus, and the relentless, silent pressure of the Second Year student body waiting for a moment of weakness. The snow had finally stopped falling, leaving the floating island covered in a pristine, blinding white blanket that hid the scars of the training grounds.
Vane stood in the foyer of Villa 1. He checked his gear one last time. His uniform was pressed. The silver buttons were polished. The [Silver Fang] hummed quietly in his marrow, a dormant predator waiting for a command.
"You are going to be late," Mara said.
She was sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase. She held a piece of charcoal in her hand, her fingers stained black. On the paper in her lap, lines of jagged but determined 'B's marched across the page.
