The group from Del's class approached cautiously, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. William's keen senses remained alert, scanning each of their faces with a calculated precision that betrayed years of survival instinct. The desert wind whispered between them, carrying tiny grains of red sand that danced around their boots.
"We're from Del's class," the female student announced, her voice carrying a mix of confidence and exhaustion. Her gaze swept across William's team, taking in the scattered remnants of their Teethworm battle.
William noticed something immediately—a slight irregularity in her stance. A hint of vulnerability that she was desperately trying to conceal. Her left leg seemed to bear less weight, a subtle limp that she was fighting hard to mask.
Liam, ever the straightforward one, broke the tension with a rough laugh. "Those Teethworms weren't exactly a welcome party," he said, gesturing to the crystal remains.