The students sat attentively—or as attentively as a group of ambitious, excitable mages could—listening to the elder at the front of the hall. The Sparkforge Enclave was brimming with energy. The walls of the hall, forged from a metallic alloy that seemed to shimmer faintly with static electricity, reflected the enthusiasm and tension in the air. Chase found himself seated near the back, his silver robe feeling stiff and unfamiliar against his skin.
The elder standing before them was a stern-looking man, his gray beard streaked with faint trails of white that crackled like lightning with every word he spoke. His silver robes flowed with an effortless grace, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the room as if daring anyone to interrupt him. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of command.
