The first bell rang long before the sun had even considered rising.
It was not a gentle sound, nor one that could be ignored or mistaken for anything else. It came from the central tower—an ancient construct of bronze and stone whose purpose had not changed in centuries—and when it was struck, its voice carried across the entire academy like a command etched into the air itself.
A deep, resonant note rolled outward, reverberating through dormitory halls, echoing across empty courtyards, slipping between the narrow corridors of training complexes, and brushing against the outer walls where early winds still clung to the fading night. It was a sound that seemed to vibrate not only through stone and air, but through the bones of those who heard it.
For a brief moment, silence followed.
Then came the inevitable reaction.
Groans.
Muted curses.
The rustling of blankets and the heavy shifting of bodies reluctant to abandon the last remnants of sleep.
