The north wing smelled different.
Older. Stone that had learned too many secrets and never bothered forgetting them.
Coren walked alone, boots echoing softly through a corridor few students used anymore. The Academy kept the wing maintained out of obligation, not preference. No banners. No House sigils. Just carved pillars worn smooth by centuries of hands and blades.
Valenna's presence sharpened as they crossed the threshold.
This place remembers blood, she murmured. Be mindful of what you wake.
"I'm not here to wake anything," Coren thought back. "Just to listen."
The dueling chamber opened into a circular room, smaller than the public arenas but heavier somehow. The floor was etched with overlapping rings and sigils, most dulled by time. The walls bore shallow grooves—blade marks, spell scoring, the evidence of fights that hadn't been meant for spectators.
He stepped to the center.
No instructor followed him in.
That was deliberate.
