The sun of the 14th of Verdant, Year 4339, was far too bright for Henry's liking. It cut through the high windows of the Teacher's Lounge like a physical blade, stabbing right at the hangover pulsing behind his eyes.
Between the whiskey and the helping create Serena's new Domain, Henry felt less like a Stage Ⅳ Ascender and more like a rug that had been beaten against a stone wall.
He squinted at the mahogany clock: 07:00 AM. Two hours until the official start of the semester. Not that it mattered to him. As a second-year student with a "special status" that most teachers were too afraid to question, Henry treated the syllabus like a suggestion he chose to ignore.
He groaned, hauling himself off the couch and staggering into the lounge's private bathroom. He needed the water to be cold enough to shock his heart back into a regular rhythm.
Henry was halfway through a freezing shower, the steam barely rising in the chilled air, when a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed against the bathroom door.
"Henry," Morgana's voice rang out, vibrating with a level of morning energy that felt like a personal insult. "I need a word."
Henry wiped a palmful of water from his face and sighed, leaning his forehead against the cool tile. "Unless you're planning on joining me in here, you're going to have to wait your turn, Headmistress."
Silence followed. Not the awkward silence of a woman offended, but the patient, predatory silence of someone who knew she wasn't going anywhere.
"I'll be on the couch," she replied simply.
Henry chuckled darkly to himself. He took his time, eventually stepping out and wrapping a heavy towel around his waist. He walked back into the main lounge, skin still damp and steaming slightly, to find Morgana sitting exactly where he had been sleeping, looking entirely too composed.
"You know," Henry muttered, grabbing his clothes from the wingback chair, "most people acknowledge a thing called 'privacy.'"
Morgana offered a sharp, feline smile. "If it's privacy you're after, I seem to recall providing you with a perfectly functional dorm room. If you choose to turn a faculty lounge into your personal bedroom, you waive the right to be surprised when the faculty shows up."
Henry didn't argue—he didn't have the energy. He disappeared into the changing room and emerged minutes later.
He wore a Loose grey linen shirt, sleeves rolled haphazardly to the elbows .Bottom Dark charcoal trousers, slightly worn at the hems. his long hair was gathered into a low, loose ponytail; black strands framing a tired face.
He sat on the couch opposite her, sinking into the leather with a weary exhale. "If you're here to tell me to attend the orientation or go to class, you already know the answer. I'm not sitting through three hours of 'Ethics of the Light Path' again."
Morgana's smirk widened, turning into something genuinely mischievous. "Don't worry, Henry. It's something even better than a lecture."
Henry's eyes narrowed. He recognized that look. It was the look she wore right before she caused a diplomatic incident. "I'm going to hate this, aren't I?"
"Oh, absolutely," she chirped.
Henry leaned back into the leather cushions, the movement making his head throb. "Alright. Spit it out. What is it?"
Morgana didn't miss a beat. She leaned forward, her eyes locking onto his with a focused intensity. "The rest of the first-year cohort arrived this morning. Orientation is over, and the introductory combat and theory classes start in less than two hours."
She paused, letting the weight of the morning schedule hang in the air. "I'll be blunt, Henry. I need an interim instructor. Our lead professor for the 'Combat Arts' track was arrested forty-eight hours ago for aggravated assault. The Council is breathing down my neck to find a replacement, and the faculty list is thin."
Henry let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "Do I really need to give you an answer? You already know it."
"Oh, come on," Morgana countered, her voice taking on a persuasive edge. "You've commanded an entire Brigade as a Colonel. You've led men through the Northern Campaign. You have more practical experience in your pinky finger than half the professors on this campus have in their entire careers. These kids need someone who actually knows which end of a sword to hold."
"I'm a student, Morgana," Henry said, his voice flat. "For fuck's sake, I'm supposed to be 'rehabilitating' or whatever bullshit the Council told the press. I don't want to do it."
Morgana narrowed her eyes, her smile turning a bit sharper. "We both know that's a lie. You were forced into this academy because the Council wanted you under a roof where they could keep an eye on you. You're a 'student' in name only."
She shifted her tactics, dropping her voice. "Think about the perks. As an instructor, all the new Heroes have to listen to you. That includes your siblings who arrived this morning. You've always been... vocal... about how they didn't deserve their titles. Now you can prove it."
Henry's expression darkened. He looked away, his jaw tightening. "First of all, that's not true. The 'angry brother' thing is a rumor started by people who don't know me, and you know it. I don't give two flying fucks about those 'Heroes' or what they think they deserve."
"Then do it for me," Morgana said, her tone softening, losing the edge of manipulation. "You know the pressure I'm under. Having the 'Prophesied Heroes' in my academy makes us a target. I need someone I can trust to keep them from accidentally blowing up a wing of the school. And besides... you met Serena and Wanda yesterday. They weren't exactly a burden, were they?"
Henry sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound the ticking of the mahogany clock. He thought about the blonde girl in the tower and the Chaos-user who wouldn't stop talking. Finally, he let out a long, defeated sigh that seemed to deflate his entire frame.
"Alright, alright. I'll do it," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked toward the window, watching the first-year students begin to gather on the lawn. "But I'm going to regret this. Within the hour, I guarantee it."