A Quiet Respite

The silence that descended upon the Academy of Arcane Arts was, for Boy, the sweetest symphony. It wasn't the hushed reverence of a library, nor the tense stillness before a test, but a deep, contented exhale that seemed to ripple through the very stones of the ancient buildings. The Shadow Maw, that ravenous chasm of teeth and terror, was gone. Vanquished. Or, at the very least, thoroughly inconvenienced and sent packing with its tail – or what passed for a tail on such a monstrosity – tucked firmly between its non-existent legs.

Boy, nursing a rather impressive bruise on his pride and a slightly less impressive one on his ribs, found himself back in his humble abode. It wasn’t a grand castle or a sprawling manor, just a small cottage on the outskirts of the academy grounds, nestled amongst a cluster of trees that were, frankly, a bit too chatty for his liking. He’d created them, of course. They were supposed to be decorative, whispering pleasantries and the occasional gardening tip. Instead, they’d developed a penchant for gossip, particularly about his near-death experience with the Shadow Maw.

“He was *so* close to being a smear on the landscape, wasn’t he?” rustled a particularly large oak, its leaves quivering with feigned sympathy.