The semester ended with massive exhaustion.
By the time Albedo stepped out of the return chamber and into the marble corridors of Zephyr Academy, the atmosphere had shifted entirely. The tension that had once coiled tight around the student body had dissolved into relieved chatter and hurried footsteps.
The emergency missions had concluded. All the final reports had been filed and all the grades were finalized.
Official statements circulated claiming the Abyssal Worshipper enclaves had been "successfully neutralized through coordinated student-field response."
On parchment, it read like a triumph.
Albedo knew better than all of that. He knew that the true mastermind, Nazghul, had not been neutralized.
A branch had been pruned, nothing more. Graves was still in a position of influence while working with the abyss, so there was a-lot of problems.
Albedo arrived at the Grand Hall that shimmered beneath its painted constellations as students gathered one final time.
