Echoes of Ruin
This school would never fall again.
Caps were discarded, and stiff gowns were replaced with the ceremonial robes we had made for ourselves. Some of them were pristine and new, woven by the Everley witches in deep blues and silvers, black, and ember reds. Others were ragged, charred, bloodstained, and proudly worn anyway. I spotted a freshman with a large tear mended across one shoulder and a girl from Lucien’s alchemy class who still had burn marks on the sleeve from when she’d pulled a friend from the library rubble.