Dune sat at his desk, like he had every day for the as long as he could remember. It was a simple desk, plan and without ornamentation, not the kind of thing one would expect to see a prince sitting at, but in the grand halls of the Emberlight University, rank and title meant precious little. Before him sat a pile of notes for a half written essay on the 'Advanced Applications of Alchemy and Thaumaturgy', though a large chunk of the page was consumed by a large, inky scrawl down the middle where ink continued to pool from the tip of his suspended brush.

Magical sutdies were difficult for most dragons, even the magically gifted. The brutal exams, astronomical expectations and prestige weighed heavy on each and every student, and as such, breakdowns were commonplace. While the professor waffled on in his dull, monotone voice on the history of thaumaturgy and marvels it produced, while dragons frantically tried to copy every single date and historical event. Dune sat frozen, gripping his brush so hard that it hurt. The unwilling moderator of a fierce ideological debate raging in his mind.

Usually the voices were quiet, stirring sometimes to try to influence him in his day to day life. But today was a particularly bad day. Along side his own, begging for a moment of silence, six other voices screamed in his ears. Pleading, arguing, demanding. And if they weren't screaming at him, they were screaming at one another. A chorus only he was witness too, and an affliction he could share with nobody.