The gates of Noctis Ardentis rose in the distance, their spires reaching into the sky like obsidian thorns. It should've felt like home.
It didn't.
My boots scraped the stone as I led Class C past the threshold. The guards nodded us through without question. Apparently, word of our "mission" had already spread.
Not surprising. When a team goes out and sends back a "do not enter, possibly cursed" report, people tend to whisper.
"Professor," Julien said, walking beside me, "should we—uh—polish the truth?"
"You want to lie to the same people who sent us down there unprepared?"
He shrugged. "Might keep them off our backs."
I didn't answer.
We moved straight to the External Operations Hall. Cold marble. Cold faces. The kind of place that looked down on you without saying a word.
An official waited at the top of the steps, parchment in hand and impatience in his eyes.
"Instructor Drelmont. Class C."
"Congratulations. You know how to read."
He didn't appreciate that.
