A Calm Blade in a Storm
Out near the academy gates, things turned sharp while inside the air grew thick. Nobles who once stood calm now tapped their feet too hard. Voices climbed over one another instead of waiting their turn. Faces tightened like fists pulled shut. That quiet mask they wore? It split along an old line.
A figure planted in place, Max faced the group. Stillness held his frame, a quiet strength in his stance.
A whisper of breeze touched his gray strands, fabric swaying low across weathered shoulders - still he stood, unmoved, rooted deep like stone that knows no hurry when clouds roll near.
Fidgeting grew among the nobles, their patience thinning each time the Principal said no. Silence would follow, then murmurs, as his refusal stood firm once again.
Out of nowhere, a voice cut through - "You're crossing a line now, Principal Max" - sharp, lacking any courtesy it once had.
