The tension in the academy was palpable in the days following the chaos in the courtyard. It was as though a storm had swept through, leaving a bitter chill in its wake. The brawl had forced the academy leadership to act decisively, though their efforts seemed more like patching cracks in a dam than addressing the flood itself.
New rules came down like an iron curtain: curfews for all students, restricted access to certain areas of the academy, and stricter oversight of group activities. Even study sessions were scrutinized. The instructors didn’t distinguish between the instigators and those defending themselves—everyone bore the brunt of the fallout.
For the commoners, the measures felt doubly unfair. They already had fewer privileges, and now their small freedoms—like late-night study gatherings—were being stripped away. I could see the frustration simmering in their eyes as we passed through the hallways, enduring the smug glares of the nobles.
The nobles, of course, seemed unaffected by the new rules. If anything, they took the opportunity to close ranks, forming their own cliques and whispering behind their hands whenever we walked by. It wasn’t hard to guess the subject of their conversations.
I kept my head high, even as my gut twisted with unease. I could feel the commoners’ gaze on me, their unspoken hopes and expectations weighing on my shoulders. To them, I wasn’t just another student anymore—I was a symbol of their resistance, the one who had stood up to Veylor and his ilk.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. The brawl might have been the spark, but the fire was still smoldering.
In the days that followed, the nobles found new ways to assert their superiority. Their methods were petty, almost laughable if not for the underlying malice. Meals in the dining hall were "accidentally" spilled on commoners, personal belongings went missing, and rumors spread like wildfire.
One morning, I found my desk in the lecture hall scratched with crude insults—a clear attempt to rattle me. I ignored it. If they thought they could break me with such childish tactics, they didn’t know who they were dealing with.
But not everyone had my resolve. I saw the toll it was taking on some of the commoners. Their steps grew heavier, their laughter quieter. Even Lorian, usually so quick with a quip, seemed more subdued.
“What’s the matter, Illiad?” he asked one evening as we walked back to the dorms. His voice was light, but there was an edge to it. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Planning something?”
“Always,” I replied, giving him a faint smirk. But the truth was, I didn’t have a plan—yet. I was still piecing together the bigger picture, trying to anticipate the nobles’ next move.
A Fractured Academy
The division between nobles and commoners was no longer subtle; it was a gaping chasm. Even neutral students—the ones who had tried to stay out of the conflict—were being forced to pick sides.
The faculty, for their part, seemed more concerned with maintaining appearances than addressing the root of the problem. I caught Lt. Garven watching me during training sessions, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t said anything about the brawl, but I knew he was keeping an eye on me.
Despite the mounting tension, I refused to let fear dictate my actions. I spent my evenings organizing study sessions for the commoners, ensuring they had a safe space to prepare for upcoming lessons.
As I looked around at the tired but determined faces in those sessions, a sense of purpose settled over me. We weren’t just surviving anymore—we were building something stronger, something that could withstand the pressure.
But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this fragile peace wouldn’t last. Something was coming, and when it did, we would need to be ready.
Veylor’s Next Move
The air was heavy, the kind of weight you could feel pressing on your chest. It had been days since the brawl, and while the academy had returned to a semblance of normalcy, I could sense the storm brewing beneath the surface. Tension doesn’t just disappear—it festers. And when it comes to Veylor Rithane, it always manifests in calculated malice.
I knew better than to underestimate him. Veylor wasn’t one to lash out blindly, not after his public humiliation. He was meticulous, someone who thrived on control and precision. The brawl had been a blow to his ego, but it was the written exam results that truly shattered the illusion of his unassailable dominance.
Now, he was plotting. I could feel it.
It started subtly, as most of Veylor’s schemes did. Commoners began noticing that their requests for training schedules or access to certain resources were mysteriously delayed. Tools for sword practice went missing, only to resurface damaged or unusable. Study materials from the library were “borrowed” indefinitely by nobles, leaving the rest of us scrambling.
The whispers among the commoners grew louder.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” one muttered during a break. “They’re trying to keep us down.”
Another added, “First the notes, now this. How long before they try something worse?”
I listened quietly, my mind turning over the possibilities. These weren’t random acts—they were deliberate moves meant to wear us down. Veylor was leveraging his influence, not just over his noble peers but also over the academy’s infrastructure itself.
Lorian was the first to voice what we were all thinking. “This reeks of Veylor,” he said, leaning against the wall of the commoners’ lounge. His sharp eyes scanned the room, his tone laced with frustration. “He’s testing the waters, seeing how far he can push us before we snap.”
I nodded, my jaw tightening. “He wants us to react,” I said. “To make us look like the aggressors. We can’t give him that satisfaction.”
A More Direct Threat
But Veylor’s subtlety didn’t last. A few days later, during a joint nobles and commoners strategy lecture, I felt his presence before I saw him. He entered the hall flanked by his usual entourage, their polished boots echoing against the stone floor. His expression was calm—too calm—but his eyes were sharp, gleaming with thinly veiled contempt.
He didn’t address me directly at first. Instead, he made his rounds, exchanging quiet words with the nobles seated around the room. Each conversation ended with a glance in my direction, their smirks growing wider with every word.
When the lecture ended, I gathered my notes, determined to avoid any unnecessary interaction. But as I stood to leave, Veylor stepped into my path, his entourage close behind.
“Commoner,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “I hear you’ve been quite the busy little organizer lately.”
I met his gaze evenly, refusing to let him see the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “If you have something to say, Veylor, say it.”
His smirk widened, the kind that made your skin crawl. “Oh, I was just thinking how admirable it is, the way you rally your kind. It’s almost... inspiring.”
Behind him, a few nobles chuckled, their laughter cold and mocking.
“And yet,” Veylor continued, his tone darkening, “I wonder how long it will take for your little rebellion to crumble under the weight of reality. You can prop up the weak as much as you like, but in the end, they’re still weak.”
I felt Lorian tense beside me, his fists clenching at his sides. “Careful, Veylor,” I said, my voice low. “You’re starting to sound desperate.”
The smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flicker of anger. But then it was gone, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Desperate? No, Illiad. This isn’t desperation. This is a reminder. Know your place, or I’ll make sure you learn it the hard way.”
He stepped back, his entourage following him out of the hall.
That evening, the tension among the commoners reached a boiling point. Word of Veylor’s confrontation spread quickly, fueling the anger and frustration that had been simmering since the brawl.
“We can’t just let him walk all over us!” one student exclaimed during a gathering in the commoners’ lounge. “If we don’t stand up to him, he’ll keep pushing until we break.”
“He’s not going to stop,” another added. “We have to fight back.”
I raised a hand, silencing the room. “We will fight back,” I said, my voice steady. “But not on his terms. That’s what he wants—for us to act out, to give him an excuse to crush us. We need to be smarter than that.”
Lorian nodded, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. “Illiad’s right. If we lose our heads, we lose everything.”
The room fell quiet, the weight of my words settling over them. They looked to me for guidance, their trust evident in their eyes. It was a heavy burden, but one I was willing to carry.
“We’ll bide our time,” I continued. “We’ll train harder, study smarter, and support each other. Let Veylor play his games. When the time comes, we’ll show him just how strong we’ve become.”
As I walked back to my dorm that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Veylor’s schemes were escalating, and it was only a matter of time before he made his next move.
But I wasn’t afraid. If anything, his efforts only strengthened my resolve. He could try to tear us down, but he would find no cracks in our foundation.
Because this wasn’t just about survival anymore. This was about proving, once and for all, that the commoners belonged here—and that no amount of power or privilege could take that away.
**
Rising Influence
The days following Veylor’s veiled threats were turbulent, but something unexpected began to take shape. The commoners, who had once been fragmented and hesitant to speak against the nobles, now began to look to me—not out of fear or blind loyalty, but out of something far more profound. Trust.
It wasn’t something I had sought, but it was impossible to ignore. Wherever I went, I could feel their eyes on me. In the training yards, students whispered about the study group and how it had transformed their approach to the exams. In the mess hall, groups of commoners huddled together, exchanging strategies for upcoming challenges, their camaraderie growing stronger with each passing day.
What began as a small study group had turned into something larger. Commoners were no longer isolated, no longer standing alone against the system that sought to keep them down. They were sharing knowledge, pooling resources, and offering each other support in ways that hadn’t existed before.
Even Lorian noticed the change. “You’ve got a following now, you know,” he said one afternoon, leaning against a stack of practice dummies as I wiped the sweat from my brow.
I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “A following? Hardly. They’re just... motivated.”
He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Motivated because of you. Don’t play coy, Illiad. You’ve given them something to believe in—hope. And that’s not something you see every day around here.”
Hope. That word lingered in my mind long after Lorian walked away. It wasn’t something I’d consciously aimed to give, but perhaps it had been inevitable.
Leadership is a double-edged sword. With influence comes expectation, and with expectation comes responsibility.
One evening, as I returned to the commoners’ quarters, I was greeted by a small group of students. Their expressions were a mix of determination and unease.
“Illiad,” one of them said, a young girl with an earnest face and a trembling voice, “we need your help.”
I motioned for them to sit, listening intently as they explained the issue. Apparently, some of the nobles had been targeting students who were excelling in combat training, sabotaging their equipment and spreading rumors to undermine their confidence.
“They’re scared of us,” another student said, anger flashing in his eyes. “Scared that we’re getting stronger, that we’re starting to surpass them.”
I nodded slowly, understanding their frustration. “They’re trying to intimidate us,” I said. “To make us doubt ourselves. But if they’re scared, that means we’re doing something right. We can’t let them win by reacting the way they want us to.”
I spent the rest of the evening working with them to come up with strategies to counter the nobles’ petty sabotage—everything from inspecting equipment before training to pairing up in combat drills to ensure no one was left vulnerable. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a step forward.
The nobles, of course, noticed the shift. Their sneers grew sharper, their taunts louder. But their contempt didn’t have the same bite it once did.
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Even Veylor seemed to sense the change. Though his scheming continued, his confidence had taken a hit. I could see it in the way he watched me during lectures, his gaze calculating and cold. He wasn’t used to losing, and it was clear he didn’t know how to handle it.
One day, as I walked through the academy courtyard, I overheard a group of nobles discussing the growing influence of the commoners.
“This can’t go on,” one of them said, his voice low but urgent. “If we don’t put them back in their place, they’ll start thinking they’re equal to us.”
“They already do,” another replied bitterly. “And it’s because of that commoner—Illiad.”
Hearing my name spoken with such disdain should have unsettled me, but instead, it only solidified my resolve.
That night, as I sat in my room, I allowed myself a rare moment of reflection. Leadership wasn’t something I had sought, but now that it had found me, I couldn’t turn away from it.
In my past life, I had been a follower—dedicated, disciplined, but ultimately bound by the commands of others. This time, things were different. The commoners weren’t just looking to me for guidance; they were counting on me to pave a path forward, to show them that we could stand as equals in a system that was designed to keep us down.
It was a heavy burden, but one I was willing to bear. Because if we succeeded—if we could rise above the schemes of nobles like Veylor—then we wouldn’t just be surviving. We’d be rewriting the very fabric of the academy’s hierarchy.
And for the first time in this new life, I felt a glimmer of something I hadn’t dared to feel before: hope.
**
A Watchful Eye
The tension between the commoners and nobles had grown impossible to ignore, even for the faculty. Over the past weeks, the subtle disapproval of our progress had morphed into blatant hostility from some nobles, while the commoners’ newfound unity became a beacon of hope—and a point of contention.
It was clear the faculty had noticed. How could they not? The simmering animosity had bled into training exercises, lectures, and even the mess hall. But instead of addressing the core issues, most instructors chose to turn a blind eye, likely wary of stirring the pot further.
Except for Lt. Garven.
I often felt his gaze on me during training sessions, sharp and discerning. He wasn’t one to intervene unless absolutely necessary, but I could sense that he was watching, evaluating. It wasn’t just me he observed, either—his eyes followed the dynamics between the nobles and commoners, his frown deepening with each passing day.
One afternoon, as I finished a sparring match in the training yard, I found him standing at the edge of the field, arms crossed and an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Walk with me, Illiad,” he said simply.
I fell into step beside him, my mind racing. Was this about the brawl? The exam results? Or something else entirely?
We walked in silence for a time, the rhythmic crunch of our boots on gravel the only sound between us. Finally, he spoke.
“You’ve made quite a name for yourself among the commoners,” he said, his tone measured. “And quite an enemy in Veylor.”
I glanced at him, trying to gauge his intent. “Neither was my intention, sir. I’ve only done what I thought was necessary to survive here.”
He chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “Survival is no small feat in this place. But you’ve done more than survive, haven’t you? You’ve inspired others to fight back—to defy expectations. That kind of influence doesn’t go unnoticed.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I stayed quiet.
We stopped by the edge of the training yard, where a group of first-year commoners were practicing their drills. Lt. Garven’s gaze swept over them before returning to me.
“There are those in this academy who would see you fail, Illiad,” he said, his voice low. “Not because you’ve broken any rules, but because you’ve disrupted the balance of power. Veylor is just one of many who feel threatened by what you represent.”
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t want power or influence. All I want is to prove that we’re just as capable as anyone else.”
“And you’ve done that,” he said, nodding. “But proving yourself isn’t enough. Not here. You need to be smarter, sharper, and more prepared than anyone else if you’re going to survive what’s coming.”
His words stuck with me long after our conversation ended. They carried a weight that was hard to ignore, a warning of challenges yet to come.
Over the next few days, I started to notice subtle shifts in the way the faculty interacted with students. Some instructors, like Lt. Garven, seemed determined to remain impartial, focusing solely on merit and discipline. Others, however, were less subtle in their favoritism.
One particularly glaring example came during a joint-tactical lecture. Our instructor, a middle-aged man with a penchant for favoring nobles, spent an inordinate amount of time praising Veylor’s strategic insights, despite their mediocrity. Meanwhile, he barely acknowledged the contributions of commoners who had offered far more nuanced analyses.
The disparity wasn’t lost on the class. Lorian shot me a knowing look from across the room, his expression equal parts amusement and annoyance. I simply shook my head, determined not to let it get under my skin.
Behind Closed Doors
Rumors began to circulate among the students about faculty meetings held behind closed doors. Some claimed the meetings were about curbing the growing unrest, while others whispered that certain instructors were lobbying to penalize the commoners for their perceived “insubordination.”
I couldn’t confirm the truth of these rumors, but I couldn’t dismiss them, either. The faculty wielded immense influence over the academy, and if they chose to side with the nobles, it would make our fight that much harder.
But I refused to be intimidated. The commoners had come too far to back down now, and if the faculty wanted to challenge us, they would have to face the same hard truths as the nobles: we weren’t going to be silenced, and we weren’t going to break.
As the days passed, I began to channel my frustration into action. If the faculty wanted to play favorites, then we would simply have to work twice as hard to prove them wrong. After all, actions spoke louder than words—and I intended to make our voices heard, no matter the odds.
**
A Dangerous Discovery
The tension in the academy had reached a boiling point. While the nobles schemed and the faculty walked a fine line of partiality, I focused on staying one step ahead. Yet, no amount of preparation could have prepared me for what I stumbled upon that night.
It began with a simple errand. Lorian had borrowed a tactical manual from the library and forgotten to return it. Not wanting him to incur the wrath of the notoriously strict librarian, I offered to return it myself. The halls of the academy were quiet, the evening curfew already in effect. Shadows stretched long and ominous across the stone walls, the only sounds my muffled footsteps and the occasional creak of wood.
As I approached the library, I heard voices—low, conspiratorial whispers coming from an adjacent corridor. I paused, instincts kicking in. The tone was familiar, carrying the weight of intent.
Curiosity—or perhaps a reckless sense of duty—drew me closer.
I pressed myself against the cold stone wall, straining to make out the conversation.
“We can’t keep waiting. He’s already undermined too much.”
It was a voice I didn’t recognize, sharp and impatient.
“You think I don’t know that?” came another voice, this one more composed but dripping with disdain. My heart skipped a beat. Veylor.
“He’s just a commoner,” the first voice hissed. “A nobody. Yet he’s managed to turn the entire first-year commoner class into his personal army. If this continues—”
“It won’t,” Veylor interrupted, his tone icy. “The faculty won’t allow it. And if they do, I’ll make sure his ‘army’ crumbles before the semester’s end.”
I clenched my fists, anger surging through me. This wasn’t just about rivalry or status anymore. Veylor was planning something bigger, something that could endanger not just me but everyone who stood with me.
The conversation continued, revealing fragments of their plans. Veylor wasn’t just working to discredit the commoners—he was actively seeking to exploit the academy’s rules to ensure we failed. Bribes, forged reports, and even outright sabotage.
“Do you have the list?” Veylor asked.
“Yes. All their names. The ones closest to Illiad.”
I swallowed hard. My friends. Lorian, Tessara, and the others who had supported me through thick and thin. Veylor was targeting them, intending to isolate me by tearing down the people I relied on.
Caught in the Act
A loud creak shattered the tension—a loose floorboard beneath my foot.
The voices stopped.
“Did you hear that?” one of them asked.
I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest. Footsteps approached, deliberate and searching.
I turned and ran, keeping to the shadows as best I could. My mind raced as fast as my feet. Veylor’s plan was more dangerous than I’d imagined, and now he knew someone had been listening.
A Silent Resolve
I didn’t stop running until I reached the relative safety of the commoners’ quarters. Even then, my breathing remained uneven, my thoughts chaotic.
They had a list. They were watching us, tracking us, plotting against us. The thought of Lorian or Tessara being dragged into Veylor’s schemes made my blood run cold. I couldn’t let that happen.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared at the wall, piecing together what little I had overheard. Veylor was using the academy’s system to his advantage, twisting rules and exploiting loopholes. If I was going to counter him, I needed to think strategically—outmaneuver him at his own game.
But I couldn’t do it alone.
By the time morning came, I had made my decision. I would confide in Lorian, Tessara, and a few others I trusted implicitly. Together, we would uncover Veylor’s plans in their entirety—and find a way to stop him before it was too late.
Because this wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about justice. And for the first time, I realized just how far I was willing to go to see it through.
**
Gathering Allies
The morning after my narrow escape from Veylor's conspiratorial meeting, I found myself sitting in the quiet corner of the commoners’ lounge, staring at a blank sheet of parchment. My mind was anything but blank, though. It raced with fragments of their conversation—plans of sabotage, names on a list, and Veylor’s venomous disdain.
I needed to act, and quickly. But every step had to be calculated. If I charged in recklessly, I risked not just my safety but the well-being of those who had placed their trust in me.
I turned to Lorian first. He had an uncanny ability to read between the lines, a sharpness to his thinking that complemented my own.
“Are you sure about what you heard?” he asked, leaning against the table with his arms crossed. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed the tension he felt.
“I’d bet my life on it,” I said. “Veylor’s targeting the people closest to me. To us. He wants to break us down piece by piece, and he’s starting with sabotage.”
Lorian frowned, his playful demeanor absent for once. “This is more than just a rivalry now. He’s taking this personally.”
“He is,” I agreed. “And it’s only going to get worse if we don’t find a way to stop him.”
We needed a plan, but more than that, we needed people we could trust. I reached out to Tessara next. She was sharp and observant, and her knowledge of systems—both official and unofficial—was invaluable.
She arrived at the meeting spot we’d chosen, a secluded corner in the city, with her usual brisk efficiency. “What’s going on?” she asked, sitting down and brushing her hair out of her face.
I explained everything, sparing no details. Her expression grew darker with every word.
“So they’re using the system against us,” she said, her tone biting. “Bribes, forged reports, targeting individuals. Typical noble tactics.”
“Which is why we need to be smart about this,” I said. “We can’t just react. We need to anticipate their moves and counter them before they even know what’s happening.”
Tessara nodded slowly, her mind already working. “We’ll need more information. If they’ve got a list of names, we need to find it. And we need to figure out who their informants are.”
“Agreed,” I said. “But we can’t draw too much attention. If Veylor suspects we’re onto him, he’ll tighten his grip.”
Over the next few days, we worked quietly and deliberately. Tessara used her agility and knack for going unnoticed to scout out the places where nobles gathered in the city to find some dirt. Lorian combed through faculty records and schedules, searching for patterns that might reveal who among the staff could be complicit in Veylor’s schemes.
Meanwhile, I focused on rallying the commoners. I didn’t tell them everything—I couldn’t risk panic—but I emphasized the importance of unity and vigilance. “We’ve proven what we can achieve when we work together,” I told them during one of our discreet gatherings. “We need to keep that momentum going. Watch each other’s backs. If something feels wrong, report it immediately.”
The support was overwhelming. Despite the challenges we’d faced, or perhaps because of them, the commoners were more determined than ever.
One evening after introducing Lorian to Tessara, as we regrouped to share our findings, Lorian brought startling news. “I overheard one of Veylor’s lackeys talking about a ledger,” he said. “Apparently, it’s where they’re keeping track of... well, everything. The bribes, the names, even some of their plans.”
“A ledger,” I repeated, my mind racing. “Where?”
“That’s the tricky part,” Lorian admitted. “It’s in their quarters, under lock and key.”
“Figures,” Tessara muttered. “They wouldn’t leave something like that lying around.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, a spark of determination flaring within me. “If that ledger has the information we need, then we’re going to get it.”
The plan was beginning to take shape, but the risks were enormous. Breaking into the nobles’ quarters was dangerous on its own, and if we were caught, the consequences would be severe. Yet, as I looked at Lorian and Tessara, I saw the same resolve in their eyes that burned within me.
“This isn’t just about us anymore,” I said quietly. “It’s about everyone who’s counting on us to stand up to Veylor and his schemes. If we can expose him, we can turn the tide.”
“And if we fail?” Tessara asked, her voice steady but serious.
“We won’t,” I said, more for myself than anyone else. “Because we can’t afford to.”
The room fell silent, the weight of our task pressing down on us. Yet, amidst the tension, there was an unspoken agreement.
We were in this together. And no matter what it took, we would see it through.
**
Lorian’s Loyalty
The moon hung low over the academy grounds as Lorian and I retreated to the commoners' study hall, our usual rendezvous when planning or unwinding after the day’s battles—whether verbal or physical. The hall was quieter than usual tonight, a reflection of the exhaustion shared by everyone following the recent turmoil.
Lorian sat opposite me, fiddling with a pencil in that absent-minded way of his whenever he was lost in thought. He had that same mischievous spark in his eyes, but tonight, it was tempered by something more serious.
“Illiad,” he began, breaking the silence, “are you sure about this? About going against Veylor head-on?”
I glanced up from the notes I’d been scribbling—strategies, observations, and names. “I’m not going against him. Not yet. I’m preparing for when he decides to come for me again, because he will. It’s only a matter of time.”
Lorian leaned back, arms crossed. “Yeah, but the way you’ve been stepping up... rallying the commoners, standing up to nobles—even Veylor himself. You’re painting a pretty big target on your back.”
His words carried weight. I knew he wasn’t wrong. Every time I made a move to defend the commoners or assert my position, it chipped away at the unspoken hierarchy that had ruled the academy for years. I was disrupting the balance, and there would be consequences.
“You think I should stop?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.
Lorian tilted his head, his expression softening. “Not a chance. I think you should double down.”
The answer caught me off guard, though it shouldn’t have. Lorian wasn’t one to cower in the face of adversity, even if he hid his strength behind that laid-back demeanor.
“You’re not afraid of what might happen?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Oh, I’m terrified,” he admitted with a grin. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Someone’s got to change things around here, and honestly? I think you’re the only one crazy enough to actually pull it off.”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve got a strange way of showing support, you know that?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
That was true enough. Lorian had been a steadfast ally since day one, always ready with a clever remark or a sharp observation. While his agility and wit had proven invaluable during physical challenges, it was moments like this—his unwavering belief in me—that made him irreplaceable.
“Well,” I said, pushing my notes aside, “if we’re going to make it through this, I’ll need you to keep those surprises coming.”
Lorian smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
We stayed there for hours, exchanging ideas, refining plans, and preparing for whatever the academy—and Veylor—might throw at us next. Though the storm was far from over, for the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope. With allies like Lorian by my side, perhaps we had a chance to tip the scales.