The academy preferred its disasters organized.
That became obvious in the orientation hall.
Instructors moved with disciplined calm. Healers formed triage lines. Senior students guided first-years away from the sealed dungeon entrance with reassuring smiles sharp enough to cut panic into manageable portions. A floating announcement sigil repeated the same sentence in polite silver script.
Minor training irregularity. No fatalities. Please remain calm.
Minor.
I had begun to hate that word.
