Watching the bastion's doors, Maxwell gripped the railing so hard the bleachers shook with his trembling. One deep breath after another, he forcefully quelled the anger searing through his veins, restoring a modicum of calmness fueled by the image of a frozen plain.
Without anger to suppress it, worry crept beneath the calm, creasing the folds of his eyes, scrunching his nose. His students couldn't lose to Adam. Never.
He sent a tentative gust of wind through the closing doors. It barely survived long enough to give him a rough idea about the maze-like architecture before something yanked his mana like fangs chomping meat.
He snorted and raised his palm, already summoning thicker gusts.
Before he could, mana slithered on the bastion's facade, nestling between the spiralling towers into a broad rectangle. Rough forms filled it before taking the defined shapes of his seven students.
