Three days after returning from the Black Stone Mountain, Class C gathered back in our designated training hall—also known as the place where optimism went to die.
The air still smelled like old chalk, burnt mana, and teenage disappointment. The sun filtered through the tall, arched windows like it was trying to bless us. It failed.
I stood at the front, arms folded, eye twitching as I surveyed the mess that dared call itself a class.
"Alright, survivors," I said, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "Congratulations on not dying. Take a moment. Appreciate yourselves. Now forget it. You're back at the bottom again."
Julien raised an eyebrow. "Bit harsh, don't you think?"
