The light of the tower faded behind him, and Nero stepped out into the evening air. The sky was a deep purple, the first stars beginning to appear. He stood at the base of the white spire for a moment, breathing in the cool, clean air of the academy grounds. His body was whole—no wounds, no blood, no pain. The tower had taken everything from him, but it had given it back. Virtual. A simulation. But his mind knew the truth. He had fought. He had bled. He had nearly died.
Exhaustion clung to his bones like a second skin.
He walked slowly back to his dorm, his footsteps echoing on the stone paths. Other cadets passed him, some nodding in greeting, others whispering behind their hands. He ignored them. His thoughts were still in the tower, still on the platform, still on the sword that had cut through his side. He replayed the fight, the white lightning, the empty eyes, the moment he had chosen to take the blade rather than avoid it. A lesson. A price. He would not forget.
