Midterms [2]

"Everything is ready. There shouldn't be a problem." 

Atlas Megrail casually sat on his chair while looking at the scenery outside. A small orb rested on the wooden table beside him. 

"If everything goes well, then we can push the narrative forward. Add a little bit more oil to the fire, and we'll be able to get her out of the Academy." 

—That's good. 

A soft voice replied from the orb. 

It was unknown to anyone but Atlas who the voice belonged to. 

—What about the kid? Did you let him in on the plan? 

"Kid? Hm, you mean Phecda?" 

—He's quite a promising prospect. His talent evaluation has him as a potential 'Fiend Rank Prospect.' 

"Fiend, you say?" 

Leaning on his chair, Atlas thought back to Phecda. 

Within the organization there were ranks. They went as follows; Discardable, Crazed, Fallen, Fiend, Low-seat, High-seat.