Royal Academy Infirmary – Late Afternoon. After the Final Duel.
Outside, the air was still vibrant with the dying echoes of the Summer Festival. One could hear the distant cheers of students, the rhythmic thumping of music, and the occasional burst of celebratory mana-fireworks. But inside the Royal Infirmary, the world was cast in a heavy, suffocating silence. The long white curtains hung limp, occasionally fluttering like ghosts in the cool afternoon breeze that wafted through the open windows.
Prince Caelus sat on the edge of a pristine white infirmary bed, his posture slumped in a way that would have horrified his etiquette tutors.
He had already shed the golden plate armor that had been his pride—it now lay in a mangled, dented heap in the corner, a metallic testament to his failure. Now, he wore only a white silk shirt, the sleeves of his right arm rolled up to the elbow.
