The chamber was massive—easily the size of a stadium.
Stone pillars soared into the dark above, each one etched with faded runes. At the far end of the hall stood a portal—round, silver-lined, and pulsing faintly with otherworldly light. It hummed like it had a heartbeat.
And beside it?
A group of students, twenty strong, checking gear and whispering strategies.
But Sion was off to the side.
Alone.
Changing.
He rolled his shoulders, slid on the gloves, his claws completely retracted. The full one for his left hand, the fingerless one for his right. A habit now—he didn't remember why.
His trousers were loose at the legs, tight at its end and waist. Joggers style. Easy to move in. Sleeveless top—tight, black, efficient. Over it, a hooded jacket that flickered with faint golden runes. Occasionally. Briefly. Like the fabric itself was holding back some ancient language.
The hood was made of fur. Black. Shiny. Distinct.
