The once-lively corridors of Ebonvale Academy still pulsed with the echoes of the day's chaos. Whispers spread like wildfire, students clustering in hushed awe, their eyes darting toward the one figure who remained utterly unfazed—Rynn Yogini.

  Amid the tension, a new presence arrived, one drawn by the scent of history in the making. A wiry Ratkin, draped in the sleek, formal attire of the Messengers Guild, stepped forward. An enchanted microphone shimmered in her paw, linked to a floating crystal camera orb that hovered beside her, capturing every moment.

  “Good evening, citizens of Yami,” she announced smoothly, her voice slicing through the murmurs. “Tonight, we stand at the epicenter of an event that will be spoken of for generations. Ebonvale Academy—once a battlefield, now the focal point of political intrigue, rebellion, and unexpected heroism.”

  She turned toward Teris Val’Quen, the Vice President of the Student Council. His ste-gray Catkin fur caught the light as he adjusted his gsses, composed as ever despite the madness surrounding them.

  “Mr. Val’Quen,” the reporter began, microphone extended, “you are known as the strategist behind many of Rynn King’s most audacious moves. What is it like working with such a... votile figure?”

  Teris regarded her coolly before offering a measured response. “Working with Rynn is like weathering a storm. You don’t control it. You don’t predict it. You survive it.” A small smirk ghosted across his lips. “And, if you’re lucky, you learn to steer it.”

  “Would you say you approve of his methods?”

  Teris gave a slow shrug. “I approve of results. And Rynn? He always delivers.”

  Next, the reporter’s keen eyes found Aelor Ven’Dral, the Deerkin leader of the herbivores. His carved antlers gleamed under the academy’s lights as he inclined his head in greeting.

  “Aelor, you are often seen as the stabilizing force in this votile dynamic. How do you maintain peace in the face of such... unpredictability?”

  Aelor csped his hands behind his back, his tone even. “Peace isn’t the absence of chaos—it’s the art of navigating it. Rynn’s presence ensures that no one here grows compcent.”

  The reporter arched an eyebrow. “So you believe his actions are necessary?”

  Aelor’s lips quirked slightly. “I believe that bance requires both destruction and creation.”

  The gold-furred Sylvia Brightmane was next, her emerald eyes glinting with quiet confidence.

  “Sylvia,” the reporter continued, “you’re often seen as the group’s moral compass. How do you guide a force as unpredictable as Rynn?”

  Sylvia chuckled. “Moral compass might be overstating it, but I do try to make sure our chaos has purpose. Rynn’s methods can be... unconventional, but even the most reckless fires can light the way forward.”

  “And do you believe he does?”

  A mischievous spark flickered in her gaze. “More often than not.”

  The mood shifted as Mira Dusktail stepped up, her auburn fur glowing and her fox-like grin wide.

  “Mira, you seem to embrace the madness more than anyone else. Why?”

  Mira twirled a lock of hair. “Because it’s fun.” She ughed. “Rynn keeps things interesting—you never know what’s coming next. Besides, every king needs a hype woman.”

  “Does he ever listen to your advice?”

  Mira winked. “Depends. If it’s about looking good while causing chaos? Absolutely.”

  The sharp-eyed Eva Hold leaned against a column, arms crossed.

  “Eva, you’re known for being pragmatic. How do you manage Rynn’s unpredictability?”

  Eva smirked. “You don’t ‘manage’ Rynn—you survive him. He’s a wildfire. Sometimes destructive, but if you know how to work with it, he clears the way for something better.”

  “Do you ever disagree with him?”

  “All the time,” she said. “But let’s be honest—where’s the fun in pying it safe?”

  Finally, the reporter turned to Battle Maid Aria, whose crimson eyes burned with quiet intensity.

  “B.M.A., your loyalty to Rynn is unquestionable. What fuels it?”

  Aria’s voice was calm, unwavering. “He gave me purpose. I follow because he leads.”

  “And do you ever question his path?”

  Aria didn’t hesitate. “Never.”

  Then, at st, came the interview that the world had been waiting for.

  Rynn stepped forward with a slow swagger, his jet-bck curls framing his face, his sapphire eyes gleaming with mischief.

  “Rynn Yogini—or should I say, Rynn King?” the reporter asked, arching an eyebrow. “Are you certain about this name? Wouldn’t that... agitate the Catkin Empire?”

  A smirk curled at Rynn’s lips, sharp as a bde. “Exactly.”

  The Ratkin’s whiskers twitched in approval before she pressed on. “How does it feel to have single-handedly saved this nation? The Catkin Empire retreated because of you.”

  Rynn exhaled a soft chuckle. “Saved them? That depends on how you see it.” He tilted his head. “The Catkin soldiers weren’t in their right minds—they had Gnawkin craze. I simply ensured they were dealt with… properly.”

  He reached out, grabbing the microphone with a firm grip before leaning in.

  “But make no mistake,” he continued, voice smooth as silk. “I didn’t just hand them over. First, I took their hearts—for a fair fight deserves an honorable end.”

  Gasps rippled through the students, but the Ratkin reporter didn’t flinch. If anything, admiration flickered in her beady eyes.

  “You have an... unconventional sense of honor, President King.”

  Rynn’s smirk deepened. “Honor is just another word for power.”

  The camera shifted to Swayg, who stood tall, her bleach-blond hair gleaming as she faced the political fallout.

  “I built myself from nothing,” she said, arms crossed. “They thought they could use my past against me. They failed. And now?” She scoffed. “Now, I’m suing them for snder.”

  Next, Zeta King took center stage, her turquoise eyes distant yet burning.

  “My world is gone,” she said, her voice raw. “Destroyed. My father wanted a son. My mother abandoned us. I joined the Voyager Guild, programmed to conquer pnets, drain them dry, repce their leaders. Your society? It’s foreign to me. If I break rules, it’s not defiance—it’s conditioning.”

  The reporter started to respond, but before she could, Rynn stepped back into the frame, his presence commanding. He turned toward the camera, voice dropping into a smooth, deadly rhythm.

  “In ten years,” he decred, “I will face the world. Armies, heroes, champions—send them all. I’ll be waiting.”

  A stunned silence fell across the academy. Even the Messengers Guild reporter, usually quick with a quip, found herself momentarily speechless.

  Then, as if sealing the moment in history, Rynn turned and walked away, his coat billowing behind him like the banner of a war yet to begin