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The next twenty-four hours were a whirlwind of activity.
Liam, fueled by righteous anger, buried himself in Academy ledgers and magically enhanced databases. His determination was relentless, and by dawn, he had compiled a damning report—one that exposed the subtle yet pervasive ways funding and resources were skewed in favor of students from larger, wealthier kingdoms.
Maya, with her gift for oratory, took Liam's findings and breathed life into them. She crafted a powerful speech, weaving data with personal stories and impassioned pleas for equity. Her voice echoed off the observatory's ancient stone walls as she practiced, each word growing sharper, more resolute with every repetition.
Lyra, ever methodical, poured over Academy regulations, searching for overlooked clauses and exploitable precedents. Her noble background proved an asset—she discreetly reached out to other students of status, gauging their stance and, where possible, quietly building support.
Meanwhile, Caius remained grounded in practicality. He scoped out the forum location, identifying exits, vulnerabilities, and potential disruptions. Beyond security, he helped me refine my presentation, anticipating Theron's tactics and sharpening my arguments.
"He'll try to discredit you," Caius warned as we trained in the early morning light. Our practice swords clashed in rhythmic bursts, ringing through the crisp air. "He'll question your motives, your background—your very right to speak."
"I know," I said, parrying a thrust. The sting of impact jolted up my arm, but I held my stance. "But I won't back down. This isn't just about funding, Caius. It's about the soul of the Academy. Are we going to let prejudice and elitism continue to rot its core, or will we fight to build something better—something fair?"
"Then you must be unwavering," he said, stepping back, his eyes hard with conviction. "You must be a beacon. Strength, clarity, resolve. Use every weapon at your disposal."
By evening, the entire Academy seemed to buzz with tension. Word of our planned presentation had spread like wildfire—whispers in hallways, stolen glances in the dining halls. Some eyes were hopeful. Others wary.
The forum was held in the grand auditorium, a sweeping chamber crowned with towering pillars and ancient tapestries that told the stories of Aethelgardian legacy. A space built for moments of import—and ours was one of them.
Professor Eldrin presided, his expression unreadable but attentive. Master Theron sat in the front row, flanked by his loyalists. His face was an unreadable mask of disdain, his eyes like cold steel.
As I stepped onto the dais, the room hushed.
I could feel the weight of every gaze—peers, rivals, mentors, skeptics. My heart pounded. I sought out the familiar faces in the crowd: Maya, standing tall; Liam, hands clenched in anticipation; Lyra, eyes calm and calculating; Caius, watching me like a sentry.
This was it. The turning point.
I drew in a slow breath, straightened my shoulders, and began to speak.
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