The bell rang, and class finally ended.
Iron Fang's voice still echoed in my skull about "discipline" and "strength." Personally, I thought survival deserved a medal, but apparently wheezing like a broken fireplace didn't count. My muscles screamed, my lungs wheezed, and my pride was six feet under, buried without ceremony.
All I wanted was to crawl into bed, pull the blanket over my face, and play dead until morning.
But when I opened the dorm door—
She was waiting.
Old Nanny. Keeper of keys. Scourge of lazy students. A woman so ancient that I half-believed she predated the academy itself.
She sat in her creaky wooden chair like a general guarding a fortress, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders like battle armor. The wooden cane resting across her lap wasn't just furniture — it was a weapon forged in the fires of suffering, tested on countless unlucky students before me.
And her eyes… sharper than Iron Fang's sword, and twice as cruel.
