Back at the Dorne estate, the so-called "vacation" had officially mutated into something far worse: a mandatory planning session for the academy's Students' Festival. I had gathered my lovely, disaster-prone Class C in the estate's largest sitting room. The place, with its old furniture and faint smell of river mold, wasn't exactly a symbol of luxury. Fitting, honestly.
I lounged in one of the battered armchairs, spinning a quill between my fingers while my students sat on couches, cushions, and the floor, all staring at me like lost ducklings.
"Alright," I began, tapping the quill against the side of my head, "the academy wants us to come up with an event that's 'meaningful' and 'entertaining.' You know what that means?"
Garrick raised a hand. "Uh, no?"
"It means," I said, grinning, "they expect us to fail. Spectacularly. Public humiliation is basically the goal. So let's not disappoint them."
