The carriage had barely rattled to a halt before Zaliyah flung the door open. He didn't wait for Harun, nor did he care about the dirty snow that ruined the hem of the expensive silks Iruna had just purchased at the boutique.
He burst through the towering iron gates of the academy, walking with a fierce stride.
The brutal Northwest wind caught his long, silver-white hair, sending it dancing like a halo of winter lightning, while his robes swayed around his ankles like trees during a windstorm.
Behind him, the heavy thud of armored boots followed. Harun was right at his shoulder, his hand already white-knuckled on the hilt of his broadsword. Both of their faces were drained of color, pale with worry.
