Villainous Instructor at the Academy

We made it back to Noctis Ardentis under gray skies and suspicious eyes.

The academy gates didn’t creak open in welcome. They hissed. The runes embedded into the iron glowed faint red—not the usual blue of recognition—as if the wards were uncertain of our identities.

Or perhaps they recognized us all too well.

Felix limped. Mira was uncharacteristically quiet. Garrick carried the bags without complaint. Wallace had barely spoken since the Maw. Even Leo—eternal whiner—had said nothing about his sore back or how much he hated hiking.

We’d all changed. You can’t walk into something older than time and leave untouched.

And Cassandra was still gone.

I hadn’t told the others what Vaughn—whatever was left of him—had said. About sleepers in every academy. About buried gods waking up.

I didn’t know how to say it.

Welcome back. By the way, our home may already be infected.

Headmaster Irian met me at the Observatory Hall. Alone.

The rest of Class C was dismissed with orders to report to campus medics for a full scan. Not that it would find anything.