The prep room in Villa 1 smelled of gun oil and polished leather. It was a sharp, aggressive scent that cut through the usual lavender perfume of the high-end cleaning spells used by the staff.
Vane stood in front of the full-length mirror. He adjusted the straps of his standard-issue light combat armor. It was grey, nondescript, and flexible. It was not the custom-forged plate of a Duke's son or the enchanted silk of a high-tier caster. It was mass-produced gear for a soldier who was expected to be mobile.
He strapped the Star-Metal Spear across his back. The weight was familiar now. It acted as a grounding rod for his nerves. The cold bite of the ash wood shaft against his palm was the only reassurance he had left.
He glanced at his student tablet on the vanity. The screen still displayed his academic results from the day before.
Cumulative GPA: 3.2
Academic Rank: 42 / 1000
'Forty-second,' Vane thought. He swiped the screen off with a dismissive flick of his thumb.
