Month later, Verdyn 20
The training hall smelled faintly of oiled wood and smoldering incense. The banners of Veyl Academy stirred with the draft, the sigil of the Veinwalker order glimmering in the late sunlight.
Three young figures stood before their mentor.
Khael Corzedar — his eyes steady, the air around him already sharp with intent.
Ceyla Nox — a wolfcut-haired girl, her storm affinity practically crackling when she crossed her arms in impatience.
Juno Arkai — a Taishin warrior, shoulders broad, his stance grounded like carved stone.
Before them stood Solen Drayvahn. His hair was white as ash-struck snow, his burnt-silver eyes reflecting both grief and unyielding steel. His crimson cloak swayed as though carrying whispers of wars long buried.
He looked at them with a half-smile.
"So… are you ready, all of you, for your next mission?"
Ceyla scoffed, flipping her hair back.
"Yeah, yeah, quit the theatrics, old man. Just tell us what it is already."
