The atmosphere in the lecture hall was heavy with expectation, the air thick with the weight of the students' anticipation. Draven stood at the front of the room, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping over the rows of exhausted faces. His sharp, piercing eyes revealed no hint of sympathy for the fatigue that clung to the students—he was not one to be moved by their struggles. The sharp lines of his expression betrayed no softness, only the precision of a man who demanded perfection.
"You have all demonstrated varying degrees of emotional control in your spellcasting," Draven began, his voice as cold and unyielding as ever. The words cut through the air, each syllable delivered with icy precision. The lecture hall, already silent, grew even quieter as his gaze lingered on each of the top students—Amberine, Elara, and Maris—before sweeping across the room. "But let me be clear—true mastery of magic requires complete control over both your emotions and your magic."
