Night settled over the academy in layers rather than all at once. The sun slipped below the western towers, leaving behind a smear of copper light that clung to the stone like a reluctant afterthought, and then the wards adjusted, lanterns ignited, and the grounds eased into their nocturnal rhythm. Students drifted toward dormitories, common halls, or secluded corners where mana practice was less supervised and therefore more appealing. The academy never truly slept; it only changed posture.
Merlin sat at the long table in the second-year commons with an open book in front of him and no real awareness of the words on the page. His attention kept sliding sideways, catching on half-felt impressions: the hum of wards recalibrating, the distant echo of training spells still being discharged in sanctioned areas, the subtle way the ambient mana felt denser than it had a week ago. Not heavier, exactly. More… attentive.
