The halls that led to the infirmary clattered beneath his boots, the sound echoing faintly through the long stone corridor. Every step Rodrics took was deliberate, each footfall sharp and calculated. The academy might have changed in little ways over the years, but the path to the infirmary was still etched into his memory like a carved rune.
His dark boots struck the ground with rhythmic thuds, reverberating off the cold walls as he walked. The air here was colder, more serious. The smell of polished wood, iron, and something faintly medicinal still lingered. It was familiar—too familiar.
'Titanfang… it's been a while, hasn't it?' he thought as his eyes scanned the surroundings. 'This place hasn't changed a bit.'
