The cacophony of sirens had faded, leaving behind an eerie silence that clung to Blackwood Combat Academy like the scent of stale sweat and disinfectant. The neon glow of the Blackwood sign, once a beacon of ambition and a promise of glory, flickered intermittently, a wounded eye blinking in the dawn. The air itself felt cleaner, purged of the oppressive weight of Viktor Volkov's reign.