The sleek, black car slid through the neon-drenched streets of Constel's duchy, a place that pulsed with a rhythm far removed from the academy city. Inside, Barak Raizen sat in the plush interior, his jaw tight. The city was a jewel in his family's crown, the Raizen Duchy, and everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of their power—their sigil on official buildings, their influence in the bustling commerce. It should have filled him with pride. Instead, it only sharpened the bitter knot of resentment in his gut.
He was home for the short summer break, but the halls of the main family estate felt more like a cage than a sanctuary. Every corner seemed to whisper a comparison he was desperate to escape. So, he did what he always did: he fled into the city's nightlife, seeking the kind of oblivion only loud music, expensive drinks, and fawning attention could provide.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, the word a venomous hiss. "That should have been me."
