The central dining pavilion of Zenith Academy was a cavernous hall built from white marble and reinforced glass. Sunlight streamed through the vaulted ceiling, illuminating the hundreds of elite students gathered for the midday break. The air was loud with the chaotic hum of conversations, the clattering of silverware, and the occasional sharp crack of a minor spell misfiring from a careless student in the lower tiers.
Vane sat at the end of the long oak table claimed by his squad. His fractured left arm was still secured tightly in its dark sling. He focused on eating his roasted chicken and spiced potatoes with his uninjured right hand.
To his right sat Valerica Sol. The daughter of the Imperial line was eating a modest portion of steamed vegetables with precise, mechanical movements. To his left sat Isole Sylvaris. The High Elf was delicately cutting a piece of bread, her posture absolutely flawless.
The cold war between the two of them continued in complete silence.
