Argolaith stepped off the dueling platform in silence.
The crowd hadn't moved.
Not yet.
Some were still whispering. Others stood speechless, watching as Caelus was carried away by two upper-year healers, his pride wounded more than his ribs.
Argolaith didn't look back.
His wooden sword rested calmly across his shoulder, and his pace never changed as he crossed the floating bridge that led back to the upper tower. The runes beneath his feet glowed softly, as if recognizing him now—not just as a student, but as a force.
He reached the top floor.
His door shimmered into view as he approached, marked now not just by the simple crest of the academy, but by the faint outline of a star-like sigil etched into the air. A subtle gift from the elder who had overseen the duel.
He stepped inside.
The silence felt… welcome.
For the first time since arriving, the room truly felt like his.
He stood in the center for a moment, then extended his hand.
