The bronze doors of the Grand Refectory groaned.
The sound echoed through the cavernous hall, drawing the immediate attention of every student inside.
Vane stepped through the threshold.
The atmosphere had mutated. Before the winter break, this space had been a riot of noise. A thousand students had fought for calories and social standing, their voices merging into a chaotic roar that deafened thought.
Now, silence ruled.
The purge had done its work. One hundred and fifty names had been struck from the registry. The absence of the lower tier created a physical void in the room. Empty tables stretched out like graveyards of polished wood. The air wasn't empty, though. It was pressurized.
The remaining students were the survivors. They were the Rank 3 Elites who had clawed their way through the semester by bleeding faster than their enemies. They didn't shout. They didn't gossip. They ate with the focused intensity of soldiers refueling between skirmishes.
