The barracks were not the regal, stone-carved halls the students had expected. Instead, they were a sprawling, subterranean expanse of iron bunks and damp flagstone that smelled of stale sweat and wet hounds. The flickering torches on the walls sputtered, casting long, nervous shadows that stretched across the floor.Raka trailed behind the group, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He felt every pair of eyes on his back—some lingering with irritation, others with outright contempt."So," Leo muttered, dropping his duffel bag onto a rusted metal bunk with a metallic clang. "We’re living in a basement with the kid who’s basically a walking handicap. Fantastic."Raka stopped by a bunk near the door. He tried to mimic a calm expression, though his heart was thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Alright, everyone. Listen up. I know this is a disaster, but we need to figure out our inventory. Does anyone actually have food or water supplies in their packs?"The room went qui

The silence of the pit felt heavy, the kind of stillness that followed a thunderclap. Raka stared up at the balcony until his neck ached, his mind racing through the logistics of their survival. The victory against the golems had been a reprieve, not a solution."We need to move," Raka said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. "Back to the barracks. Now.""Why the rush, Commander?" Leo asked, wiping grime from his shield. "I think I earned a moment to catch my breath.""Because the General isn't going to send us a pat on the back, Leo," Raka muttered, already heading toward the iron gate. "He’s going to send the quartermaster. If we don’t have our inventory set and verified before he shows up to audit, we’re going to be in a lot more trouble than a few stone statues."Back in the dim, cramped confines of the barracks, the atmosphere had shifted. The group no longer looked at Raka with open hostility, but the fear was still etched into their expressions. Raka didn't waste

The marble floor groaned under the assassin’s weight, the impact sending hairline fractures spiraling outward like a spiderweb. Before the dust could even settle, the figure was a blurred arc of steel, lunging toward Raka."Move, Raka!" Sofia screamed, her voice cracking the heavy silence of the library.Raka didn’t need the warning. His instincts, sharpened by a lifetime of near-misses in the last forty-eight hours, carried him to the side. He felt the cold breeze of the assassin’s blade slice through the air where his throat had been a split second before."Is that all you’ve got?" Raka gasped, his lungs burning as he dived behind a mahogany study table."He’s fast," Sofia said, weaving through the narrow aisles of the bookshelf, her own daggers flashing as she parried a strike that threatened to take her arm off. "Too fast for us to just brawl with.""We aren't going to out-fight him," Raka shouted, his eyes scanning the room, hunting for anything—a loose heavy book, a dangling cha

The shadows in the cramped storage room seemed to pulse in time with the King’s heartbeat. Raka could feel the oxygen thinning, the heavy, metallic tang of the King’s magical aura pressing against his eardrums like deep-sea pressure. Sofia stood like a statue, her daggers held low, but her hands were trembling—the first sign of weakness Raka had ever seen in her."Well, Commander?" the King asked, his voice dripping with an elegant, terrible patience. "You were so eager to play at being an investigator. Now that you have the attention of the throne, don't be shy. Tell me: what exactly is it that you think you’ve uncovered in my archives?"Raka’s pulse was a frantic bird trapped in his ribcage. He looked at the assassin—still curled in a ball of whimpering terror—and then back at the King. He had to lie. If he admitted he knew about the harvest, the King would end them both before they could blink."I found a thief, Your Majesty," Raka said, his voice straining to sound steady. He gest