After the chaos of the training camp, the surviving students were brought to the academy's healing center.

The facility was expansive, its walls lined with healing crystals that emitted a soft, calming glow.

The faint hum of magic filled the air as healers worked tirelessly, tending to wounds both visible and invisible.

I sat quietly in the corner, my gaze distant and clouded, my shoulders slumped under the weight of recent events.

For me, the room felt heavy with more than just the scent of herbs and potions; it held the memories of my first battle and, more profoundly, my first kill.

I hadn't expected this. Not the way the life had drained from Malachi's eyes, nor the way his own heart had ached with the act.

My blade piercing Malachi's heart was a moment frozen in my mind, playing over and over with haunting clarity.

As much as I tried to brush it off, convincing myself that Malachi had deserved it, the weight of taking another life bore down on me.

I'd trained for this, yes, but no amount of preparation had ever conveyed the reality of this choice.

The other students in the healing center were lying on beds, their bodies bearing various injuries from the intense training exercise.

Some were crying softly, others lay in shock, staring blankly at the ceiling as healers worked on them.

The atmosphere was thick with a mix of pain, relief, and an unspoken bond each of them having survived something that had tested them beyond anything they had ever faced.

Despite my own inner turmoil, I felt a flicker of solidarity with them; they had all survived together, but each bore different scars.

As I rose to check on Zed, my friend who had barely made it through the ordeal, my body was stiff, my limbs weighed down not only by fatigue but by the emotional weight I carried.

Zed lay on a cot nearby, pale and bruised, my breathing labored but steady.

My chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one seemingly taking every ounce of strength left in me.

Seeing him alive sparked a small sense of relief in my heart, though it did little to ease the turmoil still raging inside me.

I hadn't been able to save everyone, but at least I hadn't lost Zed.

Without a word to my siblings that evening, I returned home. Percy and Jackson were waiting for me, their young faces lighting up with relief when they saw me walk through the door.

They had no idea what I had been through; to them, I was simply returning from a rigorous training camp.

I couldn't bring myself to tell them about the horrors I had faced or the life I had taken.

I knew they were too young to bear the weight of such knowledge, and I wanted to shield them from the darkness I now carried.

They deserved to remain innocent for a while longer, untouched by the harsh realities of my world.

The next morning, I received the news that Valeria's funeral would take place later that day.

Valeria, a fellow student who had fallen in battle, had been a kind and determined soul, always quick to encourage those around her.

Her absence left an aching void that echoed through the academy.

As I dressed for the service, I felt the pang of guilt tighten around my heart, sharper than any weapon I had wielded.

How many more friends would I lose in this relentless pursuit of strength and survival?

The funeral was a solemn affair. The entire academy gathered, students and teachers alike, all dressed in muted colors as they paid their respects

Valeria's family had been invited, and her parents, both visibly grief-stricken, stood by her casket. I saw the tears in their eyes and felt the rawness of their pain.

I wished I could console them, to tell them that Valeria had been brave, that she had fought valiantly.

But the words caught in my throat, the silence filling the space where comfort should have been.

The academy made gestures to aid the survivors, offering rare potions that could regenerate missing limbs for those who had lost parts of themselves during Malachi's attack.

I watched as a few students went up to accept the aid, some missing arms, others bearing deep scars.

It was a reminder of the tangible cost of battle. Magic could mend the body, but there was no spell strong enough to erase the grief etched into the hearts of Valeria's loved ones.

For me, the knowledge that no amount of power could bring Valeria back left him with a bitter aftertaste, a sense of helplessness that gnawed at me.

The days that followed felt like an eternity. For me, time seemed to freeze.

Every moment was consumed by the memory of that single act, my mind replaying it in an endless loop.

I tried to reason with myself, reminding myself that Malachi had been a monster, someone who had caused pain and chaos.

But no matter how much I justified my actions, the guilt clung to me like a shadow.

It was not the act of killing that haunted me, it was the loss of his own innocence, the realization that I had crossed a line I could never uncross.

Three days after the funeral, I found myself standing before the Chancellor's office.

I had been summoned for a debrief, but I knew there would be more to this conversation.

The Chancellor r had a way of seeing into the depths of people's souls, of understanding the burdens they carried.

As I entered, I felt the weight of my actions pressing down on me even harder, each step feeling like I was dragging chains behind me.

The Chancellor's office was quiet, filled with soft sunlight that filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the bookshelves that lined the walls.

The Chancellor sat behind his desk, his expression compassionate yet firm, as though he had seen this struggle countless times before in others.

....

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