By midday, my brain felt like it had been wrung out and slapped against the warded stone floors. Silver Ridge Academy wasn’t just lectures and pens—it was centuries of blood, politics, and threat wrapped in curriculum form. Every class felt like the building itself whispering: learn, or die stupid.
The next bell dragged us into Accords & Treaty Law, which—according to Bree—was “the backbone of civilization.”
To me?
It was a choke collar disguised as parchment.
The classroom glowed with suspended enchantments. Floating scrolls circled overhead, each bearing a realm sigil—Lycandra’s silver moon, Lycan’Dra’s crowned wolf, Valoria’s crystalline spires, Drakonis’s blackened flame, and the serrated green seal of the Wilds. They drifted around like bored little planets, glowing faintly as if
