Sitting at the back of the classroom, I leaned my elbow on the desk and stared at the faint lines of the grainy wood, tracing patterns idly as I tried not to zone out. The lecture hall was grand, its ceiling arched and lined with banners depicting historical symbols of demon royalty. Massive windows cast streams of pale light over rows of desks arranged in crescents around the podium. At the front of the room, a tall, stern-looking man our new history professor adjusted the cuffs of his perfectly tailored black coat. His appearance screamed "academic overlord," from his silver-threaded horns to the piercing red eyes scanning the room for trouble.
Professor Valmor, the man who apparently thought punctuality and order were synonymous with divine virtue, clapped his hands sharply. The sound echoed through the hall, instantly silencing the low hum of chatter.
