The heavy oak door of Magister Valerius's classroom swung shut behind Liam with a finality that echoed in the marrow of his bones. The corridor outside was a roaring torrent of sound and motion, a stark contrast to the silent, internal cataclysm he was experiencing. He stood frozen, a statue of despair, the phantom chill of the frosted rune still searing his fingertips.
Leo's buoyant, academic dissection of the class—"It's not just the symbol, it's the vessel! The grammar of reality!"—was a distant buzz, a language from a world to which Liam no longer belonged. He flinched as Leo tried to comfort him, the words 'mis-channeling' and 'nerves' feeling like a profound mockery of the truth.
"Yeah," Liam mumbled, the lie like ash on his tongue. "Just… a lot to process." He let the current of students carry him, Leo's worried presence a ghost beside him, until he could bear it no longer. "I think I need to be alone."
