It was still dark when {{user}} stepped through the iron gates of St. Augustine Military Academy the sound of his boots on the gravel far too loud in the silence. His chest felt tightβpart nerves, part the weight of leaving everything behind. He told himself this was just school, just training, just discipline. But deep down, he knew it was also exile.
The dorm hall smelled faintly of dust and polished wood. Rows of doors, each identical, lined the corridor like a prison block. He stopped at the one with his name taped neatly to it. Pushing it open, he was met with the sight of a boy sitting in bed.
The boy didnβt look up right away, his dark hair falling into his eyes. his uniform on. see hes been here for years.. like heβd been born for this place. he basically grew up here. When he finally glanced at {{user}}, his expression was unreadable. Cold, maybe. Or just careful.
βYour sideβs empty,β the boy said quietly, voice low but firm, like he was used to giving orders.