The halls leading to the Void Studies wing felt narrower than most. The stones looked darker too—like they mirrored Kyle's state of mind.
He moved quickly, boots soft against the worn floor. The silence that usually trailed behind him like a second skin didn't quite stretch into this corridor—not entirely.
He bumped into Cynric and Vera just a few doors from the classroom.
"You're later than usual," Cynric said, waving. "Thought you'd be in class by now. Or gone full ghost like a few days ago."
Kyle offered a weak smile. "Not yet."
Vera gave him a quick hug, ignoring the few passing glances it drew. "Don't let them get to you," she whispered. "It's all bark. Empty noise."
Cynric crossed his arms. "Empty noise that's a few steps away from pitchforks and curses. Still, we're here. You're not facing this mess alone."
Kyle exhaled slowly. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased, just enough for the air around him to feel breathable again.
"Thanks. Really."
They stepped into the classroom together.
Professor Iskra was already seated behind her desk. Her back was straight, her dark robes trailing over the platform like pooling ink. She gave Kyle a glance—no comment—but her eyes said enough: watchful… not unkind.
When the bell chimed, she stood.
"Last session, we defined the principles of a deadzone—locations where mana density is either so unstable or so heavily disturbed that traditional spellwork fails entirely."
With a flick of her hand, a shifting map appeared above the central table. Dozens of blinking red dots scattered across a continent-shaped mass flickered to life.
"These are the most well-known. Most remain inaccessible, quarantined, or forgotten. But some…" Her eyes glinted. "…have become the foundations of thriving settlements."
Cynric leaned closer to Kyle. "Settlements in deadzones? That can't be right."
Kyle didn't answer. He was too focused.
Iskra paced slowly beneath the projection. "Controlled deadzones—those stabilized by rune-forged barriers or artificial anchors—have been turned into 'havens.' Why? Because the absence of ambient mana offers refuge from certain threats."
She paused. "No illusions. No tracking spells. No high-tier enchantments. In the right hands, they're strategic assets."
Vera raised her hand. "But wouldn't living in one be dangerous?"
Iskra nodded. "It can be. Healing spells don't function. Elemental control is erratic. But think about who benefits—governments, rogue mages, and of course… those hiding from either."
She let the projection fade and looked directly at Kyle.
"The deeper question isn't how to live in a deadzone—but how to use it as leverage."
The rest of the class passed in a blur of note-taking and whispered conversation. Kyle found himself immersed, if only briefly, in the pull of something larger than himself—something that reminded him the world beyond the academy had shadows of its own.
Just before the class ended, Kyle raised his voice.
"I know this part might seem forgettable, but it is possible to survive in a deadzone. You can build a settlement. Live there. But it's far from a haven."
He exhaled sharply.
"It's more like a place to call your grave if you're old enough—or dumb enough—to stay. I would know. I came from one."
Vera and Cynric glanced at him, their expressions shifting to something solemn, slightly ashamed. The reminder hit harder than expected.
"Sorry… we forgot," Vera said quietly.
"It's okay," Kyle replied with a chuckle, trying to lift the mood. "Just wanted to set the record straight."
After class, he lingered while the others filtered out.
Iskra didn't speak at first. She merely gestured for him to approach.
He did, standing across from her desk.
"I heard about the hearing," she said at last. "And the verdict."
Kyle tensed, but didn't reply.
"They've labeled you," she continued. "And some of those labels won't wash off. Not even with perfect grades or public heroism. Labels stick—especially in places where reputation is currency."
"Doesn't feel fair," he muttered.
"It isn't," she agreed.
Silence settled between them.
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do, huh?" Kyle snapped. "Just sit back and watch them burn me from every angle? Alex gets a slap on the wrist, and I get put on a watchlist for being scary? Excuse me, but this is bullshit."
"Fairness isn't a constant," she said calmly. "It's a tool. The academy used it to protect its name. You should use what's left of yours to survive."
Kyle looked at her, jaw tight. "How?"
"Comply. Finish the term without another incident. Keep your head low. Keep learning. And when the month-long break begins… use it to dig. This Voidspawn rumor—your mana fluctuations—there's more to it than the disciplinary board will admit."
Kyle's breath caught.
"You think there's truth to it?"
"I think," Iskra said slowly, "someone doesn't want you to find out who you really are. And I think that makes you dangerous—to all the right people."
She gave him a thin, knowing smile.
"But dangerous can also mean valuable. You have choices, Kyle. Just… make the next few quietly."
He nodded—shaken, but grateful.
"Thank you, Professor."
She waved him off. "Go. And if anyone gives you trouble again—don't duel them. Just send them to me."