CHAPTER 78 — THE WEIGHT OF A NAME
Morning at Vermillion Phoenix Academy was a very pleasant this day.
It asserted itself.
Heat bled into the air long before the sun fully cleared the horizon, warming stone walkways and igniting the veins of crimson crystal embedded throughout the academy grounds. The great arena stood awake already, its formations humming softly, its vast circular floor clean and empty—waiting.
Today was not Draw Day.
Today was performance time.
Ling Yifan stood alone at the edge of the eastern promenade, spear resting upright beside him.
The academy was loud behind him—teams moving, instructors giving final reminders, spectators filtering toward the stands—but here, near the flame gardens, there was a pocket of quiet.
He breathed in slowly.
Then out.
His mind was clear.
Too clear.
That was when the air shifted.
Not violently.
Not aggressively.
Just… politely.
