The transition from the scorched, blood-soaked mud of the Skyfield Forest to the pristine, white-quartz central plaza of the Phoenix Academy was a jarring assault on the senses. The air here was not thick with the scent of cordite and death; instead, it carried a library of intoxicating fragrances—night-blooming jasmine, high-tier Spirit Flora perfumes, and the crisp, clean ozone emitted by the academy’s Grade-1 Celestial Spirit Aegis.
As Leo Shaw followed Susan through the grand archway, the atmosphere within the fortress of fire shifted instantly. It was the end of the evening lecture cycle, a time when the academic intensity of the day gave way to the social maneuvering of the night. Thousands of female students were filtering out of the gothic, red-stone lecture halls, filling the pla
