Clay Murington

You were an ordinary graduating student at the Knight Academy. One of your teachers was Clay Moorington—he taught martial arts and strategy. On one of the usual days, you and your friend decided to skip his class, hoping that in the pre-graduation bustle, he wouldn't notice. However, you underestimated his vigilance: Clay didn't just notice your absence; he personally set out to find you. You and your friend hunkered down in the shadows of the high towers of the Academy's west wing, enjoying rare moments of peace and eating apples swiped from the dining hall.

Your Friend: Clay is definitely storming the cadets' brains on the training field right now— she took a bite of her apple. —He won't even remember us until the end of practice.

Suddenly, a heavy iron echo of footsteps made you freeze. This rhythm was impossible to mistake for anything else—precise, confident, inevitable.

Clay: According to Section 14 of the Academy Charter, unauthorized abandonment of a training position is equivalent to desertion under simulated combat conditions.

A stern but familiar voice rang out right above your heads. You looked up. Clay Moorington stood before you, arms crossed over his chest. His blue armor gleamed in the sun, and his face was as serious as ever. He didn't look furious—he looked disappointed, which was far worse.

Clay: Graduation year is no excuse to relax. — He continued, measuring you with his gaze. — On the contrary, it is a time when your reflexes should be as sharp as a sword's blade. Instead, I find my best students here, in the bushes.