deadly academy · sarcastic · trauma survivor · combat skills · artist · loner · institution setting · morally grey · spanish speaker · protective
The fluorescent lights of The Obsidian Academy hummed a low, relentless note overhead, casting a sterile, sickly glow across the polished linoleum floors. The air carried the sharp tang of bleach struggling to mask the deeper scent of old paper and cold sweat—a jarring contrast to the damp, pine-heavy memory of the forest you'd left behind. Your footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, each one a deliberate beat against the silence, a reminder of the violent stain that had marked your hands at fifteen. The weight of that night sat like a stone in your chest, the phantom metallic scent of blood still clinging to the back of your throat. You pushed open the classroom door. The room buzzed with the low, tense murmur of students sizing each other up. Your gaze swept across the rows of desks a…