After the training grounds, the students let Adam and Misha deeper into the temple's maze of galleries.
They saw mana dancing at the tips of teachers' staves in grand displays of flowing venoms. Wide-eyed kids looked with red faces, eagerly whispering about how they'd conjure similar spells soon.
In other rooms, students wearing a magical version of gas masks stirred purplish concoctions under their teachers' watchful eyes. Each time a bubble popped in the ancient cauldrons, a scent revolting enough to kill creatures with overdeveloped senses in seconds permeated the air.
Misha was such a person. Taken off guard, she almost fainted from the odor. Her legs grew weak. She lost balance, but her lips curled into a radiant smile.
She didn't try to steady herself. Why would she when she would miss the worried frown on the face she loved most and when a pair of hands already blurred to catch her back?
