The mahogany-paneled walls of the Headmaster’s office seemed to vibrate with a residual hum, a ghostly echo of the violet lightning that had just rewritten the destiny of the Spirit Martial Academy. The room was a sanctuary of high-tier luxury, smelling of expensive leather, aged tobacco, and the faint, ozone-heavy scent of the academy’s private Spirit Energy Screen.
Leo Shaw reclined in the Headmaster’s oversized executive chair, his feet—shod in boots made from the hide of a Steel-Fang Tiger—propped casually on the polished desk. Across from him, the three most powerful men in the institution stood in a row, looking less like administrators and more like servants awaiting a decree.
Gordon Jordan, the Headmaster, was still dabbing sweat from his bald head with a silk handkerchief. He ha
