The mission came in a sealed envelope, its holographic seal flickering faintly before dissolving under my thumbprint. Seraphina and I exchanged a glance as we skimmed the details: an assassination of a White-ranker in a city deep in the Southern continent. I could almost hear the unspoken thought passing between us—so much for easing into this new "practical evaluation."
The Academy didn't coddle its students. That much was clear. Killing was not just expected but baked into the curriculum by the second year, like an unpleasant but necessary ingredient in a recipe. This was no exercise or simulation. We were being taught the ugly, functional truth of the world: sometimes, survival required you to pull the trigger or swing the blade, and sometimes, survival wasn't enough—you had to win.
For now, the details of the mission were set aside, though the weight of it lingered in my mind. Instead, I turned my focus back to the ever-expanding labyrinth that was the theory of necromancy.
