The office was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the air.
Kez sat on the edge of a chair that looked like it belonged in a museum, his knees angled awkwardly, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against his thigh. Dark wood paneling, polished glass, and perfectly aligned stacks of parchment filled the space. Everything was deliberate and precise as though the room itself refused to admit chaos could exist.
The desk before him was broad enough to serve a banquet. Behind it sat Senior Instructor Cera Verin, posture so straight it could have been carved from stone, her hair pulled back in a severe knot. Every line of her uniform looked pressed to a regulation only she knew.
Dan Kessarin stood silently off to the right, hands clasped loosely, expression unreadable. He hadn't spoken since they entered. The faint bruise along his jaw was a quiet reminder of why they were here.
Cera's gaze rose from the slate in front of her. "Kez Jolkev," she began, each syllable measured. "First day at TROP. Before your first class even began, your name appeared on the staff watchlist."
Kez blinked, disbelief flashing across his face. "What? No way he actually put me on the watchlist. That's...listen, that was a mistake. You've got to hear me out—"
"It is not a mistake," she cut in, voice slicing cleanly through his protest. "The watchlist is not given lightly. It is rare. Exceptionally rare. And never for a good reason." She tapped the slate once, a sharp, deliberate sound. "The registration clerk filed a formal incident report: destruction of academy property, disorderly conduct, verbal insubordination. That alone is enough to trigger review."
Kez shifted. "Look, that orb—"
"That orb was a Valorian-imported mana reader worth more than your tuition. It was designed for passive contact. What you did to it falls under academic property destruction." She didn't look away. "And then, as if that weren't enough, you proceeded to your second class and injured the instructor before the lesson had even begun."
Kez's brow furrowed. "That was an accident. The door—"
"The door you forced open without waiting for it to be unlocked," Cera said, her voice tightening. "Propelled with enough strength to strike Instructor Kessarin in the face and knock him to the ground in front of his cadets. This incident does not seem like an accident like you claim, Mr. Jolkev. This is not the behavior of someone prepared for the discipline this institution demands."
Dan's eyes stayed on Kez, unreadable.
Cera leaned forward slightly, her presence filling the space between them. "TROP is not a playground. It is not a stage for whatever impulses cross your mind. We train those who will stand between humanity and extinction. We do not gamble on cadets who prove on their first day that they cannot be trusted to follow the simplest expectations."
The clock on the wall ticked twice.
"Kez Jolkev. Effective immediately, you are expelled from TROP."
The silence that followed was absolute. No hum from the walls, no muffled footsteps from the hall. Just the weight of her words settling in the air like a locked door.
Dan didn't move. Cera didn't blink. And the truth of the decision stood unshakable.
Kez also didn't move or blink. Just sat there, trying to process how everything had gone so completely, so irreversibly wrong in the span of a morning.
It didn't seem real. He could still picture the sunlight warming his face, the quiet hum of the dorm walls, the lazy comfort of that first moment awake. He'd rolled over, squinting toward his phone — 09:45, glaring back at him in numbers that seemed far too large for comfort.
For a second, his brain refused to compute. Then he unlocked it, saw the last open app was the calculator, the numbers 0600 still sitting there like some kind of cosmic joke. That's when the drop hit his stomach.
First day. First class missed. And at TROP, skipping a class was never taken lightly. On the first day, it was worse. It could mark you as careless before you even started, the kind of stain that could have the administration questioning whether you belonged here at all — and in the wrong circumstances, it could get you expelled.
He'd launched himself out of bed before he'd even finished swearing, pulling on whatever clothes were closest. No time for breakfast, no time to think — just the single, pounding thought that he might already be on the fast track to getting expelled before he'd even learned where the bathrooms were.
And now, somehow, sitting here, he was realizing he'd overshot that fear entirely.
Kez leaned forward in the chair, hands splayed like he could physically stop the verdict from sliding further toward permanence. "Look, you're making it sound worse than it was. What happened today was a mistake. A...lapse of judgement ya know? First day jitters, bad luck, whatever you want to call it — it wasn't some calculated plan to tank my entire future here."
Cera's expression didn't flicker.
"I'm not saying it's fine," Kez pressed, his voice quickening. "I get it, alright? I screwed up. But you can't judge me on one morning. Give me one more chance and I'll prove I can handle myself. I came here to learn, not… whatever this is turning into."
"You are already learning," Cera replied, tone like polished steel. "You are learning that actions have consequences, Mr. Jolkev."
Kez exhaled sharply, glancing between them. "Come on. You're telling me no one here's ever had a bad first day? No one's ever tripped up? I can fix this. I just need—" He gestured toward Dan. "And look at him. He's fine. Probably a high-level ranker anyway, right? There's no way a stupid door could do any real damage to someone like that."
Cera's eyes hardened. "You assume much, Jolkev, and it only shows how little you observe. Instructor Kessarin is not the battle-hardened duelist you imagine. He is a new faculty member whose strength lies in academics, not in climbing the ranking ladders. His rank is well below many cadets in this academy because his focus has been research and instruction, not combat certification. That is precisely why your recklessness is unacceptable — you struck someone who had no reason to expect or guard against such force, in an environment where safety among peers should be a given. That is not an accident we can overlook. That is a failure to respect the people you share these halls with."
Kez's mouth opened, but whatever half-baked defense he had ready never made it out.
The floor trembled.
It was subtle at first, a low vibration that could have been distant machinery — until the glass panes behind Cera rattled in their frames. The clock on the wall gave a faint metallic clink. Somewhere far off, a boom rolled through the air, deep enough to thump in the chest.
Cera's head snapped toward the window. Dan straightened instantly, all traces of calm civility vanishing from his stance.
Then came the second impact — sharper, closer, rattling the desk and sending a stack of parchment sliding to the floor. This time, the noise that followed wasn't distant. It was the echo of alarms bursting to life across the academy, their shrill wail cutting through the walls.
Dan took a half step toward the door but stopped when Cera raised a hand.
She was already on her feet, pulling a compact comm device from her belt. "Report," she snapped into it.
Static answered, then a voice, breathless and raw. "Zone Three perimeter breached — multiple hostiles, identifying as Devil Sect. Repeat, Devil Sect inside the campus. Cadets under attack—"
"Huh? Why is Devil Sect… oh fuc—" Kez blurted before he could stop himself.
How could he have forgotten? The first-day attack was one of the major opening events in the novel — a scene etched into his memory in perfect detail. He'd even made sure to cash in on it, placing bets on the academy's stocks so he'd be ready when the chaos tanked their value. And yet, here he was, alarms wailing, smoke already curling into the sky, and he was only now remembering. If he wanted to avoid becoming an accidental casualty, he needed to get out before the fighting reached this building.
The line dissolved into a hiss of interference.
Through the glass, smoke was beginning to rise above the distant training fields.
Cera's gaze cut to Kez, unreadable. "You stay here. Instructor Kessarin stays with you." Her tone left no room for argument.
She was already moving for the door. Dan stayed rooted beside the desk, his eyes shifting once toward Kez before locking back on the smoke outside.
The door closed behind Senior Instructor Cera Verin with a clean, decisive click.
For a moment, the office felt sealed off from the academy, as if the thick wood and polished glass could negotiate with reality. Then the alarms bled through the walls again, their shrill rise and fall threading into the building's spine. A distant impact rolled across the campus like thunder. The windowpanes gave a faint rattle in their frames.
Kez sat on the edge of the chair, knees angled awkwardly, hands braced on his thighs like he might need to stand up at any second. The room was too tidy for him. Too composed. Even the stacks of parchment looked disciplined.
Dan Kessarin stood to the right of the desk, hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture so precise it made the air feel measured. His expression was still, almost blank. His gaze stayed fixed on the smoke beyond the glass.
From the outside, he looked unbothered. A lecturer caught in an unfortunate mishap and then in an unfortunate crisis, calmly doing what he was told.
Up close, the calm had edges.
His jaw held a fraction too tight. The bruise along his cheek sat like a quiet accusation. Every so often, his eyes would refocus, not on the smoke itself but on something unseen beyond it, as if his mind kept trying to arrange the chaos into a pattern that refused to settle.
Kez glanced at him again, then away, then back. The silence was the worst part. Silence left too much room for the alarms.
He cleared his throat.
Dan did not turn. "You were instructed to remain here."
Kez blinked. "Yeah. I got that."
The words fell into the room and died. Kez's fingers started drumming an uneven rhythm against his thigh. He caught himself and stopped, then immediately fidgeted in a different way, as if his body was determined to produce noise unless ordered otherwise.
Outside, another boom rolled. It was closer than the first. The desk trembled faintly. A slate on the corner shifted a millimeter, then stopped, like even the objects were trying to act normal.
Kez swallowed. "So. Um. This is… not ideal."
Dan's answer came after a pause that felt chosen. "No."
Kez tried to smile. It did not stick. "You're not much of a talker, huh?"
Dan's eyes shifted toward Kez without turning his head, a sidelong acknowledgement rather than attention. "Are you seriously asking that question right now?"
"Okay," Kez said quickly. "Fair. I just, uh.. have a hard time sitting quietly while the world burns away, ya know..."
Dan finally turned. The movement was controlled, smooth, as if he had practiced turning his attention like a blade. His face remained neutral, but there was a faint strain beneath it, like composure held by habit rather than comfort.
"We are not sitting quietly," Dan said. "We are complying with containment protocol."
Kez stared at him. "Containment protocol."
"Yes."
Kez glanced at the window, then back. "You say that like you've done it before."
Dan's gaze held on him a beat too long. Not hostile, not even suspicious in any obvious way. More like he was taking Kez's sentence apart to see what it was made of.
Then Dan looked away, returning his focus to the smoke outside. "I say it because that is what it is."
Kez exhaled through his nose. "Right. Okay. Sure."
Silence again. The alarms were louder now, either because the fighting had moved closer or because Kez was running out of other sounds to listen to.
He tried again, softer. "So uhh...about your face, is it uh... okay?"
Dan did not react immediately. Kez could almost see the calculation, the choice of whether to answer as a person or as a role.
"What do you think?" Dan asked.
Kez winced. "I'm sorry about the door. It really wasn't intentional."
Dan's eyes moved to him again. "You should be."
Kez's shoulders tightened. "Okay, yeah. That's fair."
Another tremor ran through the floor. Kez flinched hard enough that the chair legs gave a tiny squeak. Dan did not flinch, but his fingers tightened behind his back for half a second, then relaxed again. A small slip, quickly corrected.
Kez noticed it anyway.
"You can feel it too, right?," Kez said, his voice gaining a little confidence. "They are coming closer. Staying locked up here...might not be ideal."
Dan's eyes shifted toward Kez, not quite a glance and not quite a dismissal. The office reflected in them for an instant. The clean desk. The aligned parchments. The absurdity of being told to sit still while the academy shook.
"We will remain here," Dan said.
The answer came too quickly, as if it had been prepared before the question existed.
Kez stared. "We will? Like, that's the plan? Just… keep being furniture?"
Dan's jaw tightened a fraction. He kept his hands behind his back. Kez could tell the posture was doing work, holding something in place.
"This room is reinforced," Dan said. "It is insulated. It has a lock. It is not a corridor."
"Yeah, and it's also a box," Kez shot back, unable to help himself. "Boxes are great until the fire reaches them."
A distant impact answered him, closer now. The window gave a sharper rattle. Somewhere below, the building creaked like it was flexing its ribs.
Dan's gaze flicked to the door. Just once. A small, involuntary check.
Then he looked back out at the smoke.
"You are escalating your own panic," Dan said evenly.
Kez let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, sorry. I'll just unpanic while the campus gets invaded by some maniacs. If they already made it this far that means they aren't just some ordinary people."
Dan did not respond. He held still, but his focus was no longer on the smoke. It had turned inward, as if he were listening for something that the alarms could not translate.
Kez swallowed. "Look, I know you're the instructor and all, but… Cera told you to stay with me. Not to die with me."
That did it.
Not a change in Dan's expression. Not a visible crack. But something shifted in the way his shoulders set, like a piece of him had been bracing for the wrong problem. His eyes narrowed very slightly, not at Kez, but at the idea of remaining obedient in a situation that had stopped caring about rules.
He walked to the desk. The movement was smooth, deliberate, almost calm. But Kez could see the stiffness in it now, the careful economy of someone trying not to look like they were thinking too fast.
Dan reached under the desk and pulled out a narrow drawer. Inside were neatly stacked items that looked like they had never been touched: a slim emergency slate, a small metal cylinder marked with a faint academy crest, and a folded card with printed instructions.
Dan stared at the contents for half a second too long.
Kez watched him. "You… didn't know that was there."
Dan slid the cylinder into his coat pocket without comment, then took the slate and tapped it once. The screen lit with a muted glow, lines of text too small for Kez to read from where he sat.
"Can you call someone?" Kez asked, leaning forward.
Dan tapped again. The slate crackled with interference, then died into static.
He tried a second time. Same result.
The mask on Dan's face held, but Kez caught the smallest twitch at the corner of his eye. Not frustration. Something closer to irritation at the universe for being so rude as to not cooperate.
"Communication is compromised," Dan said.
"Great," Kez muttered. "So, the only thing separating us from those maniacs is just some fancy wood paneling."
Dan's eyes moved to the window again. The smoke was thicker now. Not just rising, but spreading. A new plume curled upward from behind the adjacent building, closer than before. The kind of smoke that meant something had actually caught.
Kez's voice dropped. "They're definitely closer."
"You talk too much." Dan said. However, despite saying that his hands were already moving.
He set the slate on the desk and picked up the folded instruction card. His eyes scanned it quickly. Too quickly for someone calm. Then he refolded it with a precision that felt like restraint.
"This office is not a target," Dan said, as if repeating it could make it true again. "But proximity is changing."
Kez stared. "So… that's a yes?"
Dan's gaze snapped to him, sharp for a moment, then flattened again. "You will not leave this room alone."
Kez lifted his hands. "Not planning to. I would absolutely die."
Dan's eyes held on him another beat, as if evaluating whether that was honesty or performance. Then he turned away.
He crossed to the door and placed his hand on the handle. He didn't open it yet. He listened.
The alarms were still screaming. Beneath them, faintly, there were other sounds now. Running footsteps in the hall. A shouted command. Something heavy striking stone. A brief, high crack that might have been a spell discharging or metal snapping. It was hard to tell.
Dan's hand stayed on the handle.
Kez stood up, slower than he wanted to, trying not to make the chair screech. "Okay," he said, keeping his voice low, as if volume could invite danger. "What are we doing."
Dan did not answer immediately. He seemed to weigh the office behind him against the corridor beyond the door. Safety that might become a trap, versus movement that might become a mistake.
Then he let out a controlled breath, the kind that belonged to someone deciding, not someone obeying.
"We change location," Dan said.
Kez blinked. "To where."
Dan's eyes flicked to the ceiling, then the walls, as if mapping the building in his head from scraps of memory and instinct. "Lower levels. Internal corridors. Toward a reinforced junction."
Kez frowned. "Do you know where that is."
Dan paused. A fraction of a second too long.
"I can infer," he said.
Kez stared at him. "That is not inspiring confidence."
Dan opened the door.
The hallway beyond was dimmer than the office, lit by emergency strips that ran along the floor. The air smelled sharper here, a hint of ozone and stone dust. Somewhere down the corridor, a door hung ajar, swaying slightly as if it had been hit recently.
Dan stepped out first, just enough to look both ways. His posture remained composed, but his weight shifted subtly, ready to move, ready to pull back. Calm, but not careless.
He looked back at Kez. "Stay behind me. Do not miss any of my instructions if you want to live."
Kez nodded quickly. "Gladly."
Dan's eyes lingered on him for the briefest moment, like he was still deciding what kind of variable Kez was. Then he turned forward again and began walking, unhurried but with purpose.
Kez followed at his shoulder, trying and failing not to breathe too loud.
After three steps, Kez whispered, "So just to be clear, you're doing this because I'm right and it's getting closer."
Dan did not look at him. "I am doing this," he said, voice perfectly even, "
because the warding hum is gone."
Kez swallowed. "The what."
"The building's defensive lattice," Dan replied, still walking. "It should be audible if you listen for it."
He slowed just enough to let Kez notice the absence. The corridor had alarms, footfalls, distant impacts.
But beneath all of it, there was nothing.
Dan's tone did not change. "If the wards are silent, it means one of two things. Someone disabled them. Or something walked through them like they were never there."
They moved down the hall, the alarms screaming above them, the academy trembling under their feet, and the office behind them shrinking into the distance like a bad decision they'd escaped just in time.