The dining hall had always been loud.
Hundreds of mages-in-training packed into one room with too much mana and too little restraint.
Food floated. Half the seating was territorial. The other half was political. And somewhere in the chaos, an actual meal might happen.
But today, it wasn't loud.
Today, it quieted.
Not dramatically. Just enough. Just when he walked in.
'Are they watching me or something?'
Lindarion paused.
Not long.
Long enough to register the shift.
Then he moved to the food line—slow, measured steps—and grabbed a tray. No eye contact. No greetings. He'd never been popular. Never tried to be. Silence suited him better than conversation.
But silence had changed its flavor.
Now, they seemed to be watching him. The people around.
He reached the end of the line with a plate half-filled with things he didn't particularly care to identify. And that was when a voice called out.
"Lindarion. Over here."
It wasn't someone he recognized.
