The Academy was in flames.

Oh, it hadn't been hit. There was nothing at the Academy for the armies to care about; they didn't study war or great magicks here. No, the fire had simply spread its way over and was now cheerfully reducing the beautiful architecture to rubble.

...Not that it had been the crowning achievement of Ashan or anything. Nope. The Academy wasn't even named after anyone. It was just the sort of necessary building a trading capital ought to have, especially one of an up and coming nation like Ashan. Well, it had been up and coming for four hundred long years, so..

"I am never going to graduate, am I."

He was supposed to be running or screaming or both. Everyone else was doing it. He had seen one of the teachers trampled to death in the chaos. The memory made him frown; Magister Brownsworth had been a pleasant teacher. He wasn't sure if it had been bravery or horror that had led the poor man to stand fast before the undergraduate horde.

But he didn't like running or screaming, so he stayed put, watching the crowds mill about in a frenzy. By his estimate, he'd been there for an hour now, watching the smoke clouds. You'll have to leave soon, the pragmatic voice in his head pointed out. Eventually, the wind would blow sparks onto this tree, and that would be that. He didn't really see much point in dying.

Slipping off the branch, he climbed his way down the tree and wandered away from the footsteps.