At the academy, Balzac leaned his shoulders against a polished marble pillar inside the Astral Terminus. He crossed his arms over his chest and let his chin drop toward his collarbone. Sleep tugged at his mind, tempting him to drift off entirely right there in the busy hub.
"Balzac!" A booming yell shattered the background chatter.
The sudden noise jolted Balzac awake.
The gathered students and visitors froze in place. They stared at the Grandmaster marching across the entrance hall. Sweat beaded on the foreheads of the onlookers as they witnessed the terrifying anger contorting his features. People wanted to offer a formal greeting to the head of the academy, but everyone kept their distance to avoid his wrath.
The Grandmaster stomped directly toward the pillar and pointed an accusing finger. "What are you still doing standing here?" he shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Why have you not gone to rescue Solomon yet?"
