Leo left the note on his desk untouched.
He had read it once the night before, noted the elegant handwriting and the not-so-warm welcome, then set it aside. E.W., whoever she was, could wait. The academy would not.
He dressed in the reinforced uniform the tailor had delivered, the enchanted thread already adjusting to the subtle shifts in his frame as Adaptation worked in the background. The fabric settled against his shoulders and did not pull.
The Primal Core hummed steadily behind his solar plexus, converting the small movements of dressing into stored mana. Axiom remained silent in his mind, a calm presence that had returned fully the moment he crossed the academy gates.
He stepped into the hallway and felt the villa's atmosphere settle around him like a second skin. Villa 4 was not a dormitory. It was a pressure cooker dressed in luxury. Twelve students in total, all in the Elite Track. Eleven of them had been here a year or more longer.
