(Three Days Later – Academy, The Grand Assembly Hall)
The hall was packed.
Every seat was filled—students in their uniforms, staff in somber attire, a few townsfolk who had come to pay their respects. The air was thick with murmurs, the occasional sniffle, the weight of collective grief pressing down on the room like a physical thing.
Zephyr sat in the front row, posture rigid, his expression a mask of indifference. His fingers rested on his knees, unmoving. His eyes, usually sharp with quiet intensity, were slightly duller and hollow.
To anyone else, he looked the same as always. Cold. Untouchable.
But to those who knew him?
Something was missing.
Aman had been the one to crack that icy exterior, even if just for a while. Now, with him gone, the cold had seeped back in—deeper, heavier.
