Bab 109: Detention

"You really lost it in there."

Dr. Nicara Shetty was smiling as she guided Rafel to a class on the lowest level of the Centre for the Dark Arts: the detention hall. The joint scuffs of his boots and clicks of her pencil heels echoed off into the mildly lit hallway. It was solemn as a tomb. And the lamps on the high ceiling made the polished floors seem like a mirror, or some eerie dimension one could just fall through. No other soul was in sight. To any peeper behind a keylock, it was only the Headmistress walking the ruffian teen to his punishment.

Rafel had gotten six derogatory points for his stunt at the Guild.

"Ths boy you hurt," Nicara continued, "is in stasis, as our best mix of surgeons and healers attempt to regenerate what you broke. He's got five cracked ribs, a dent in his lung, and a windpipe completely smashed in. Thank the Martyr that we have a team of physicians on ground.

He wouldn't have survived a ship to Titans Landing.