Atlas Carson
The lecture hall at The King’s U basked in late-morning sunlight, the kind that spilled in golden through the high, arched windows and settled lazily across polished desks and mahogany floors. It was a room built to impress—vaulted ceilings, thick columns, and the kind of academic gravitas that made even whispers feel weighted. Students filtered in, the air humming with casual chatter, the occasional scrape of a chair, the soft clack of designer shoes and expensive watches tapping against wood. The room buzzed with the usual morning rhythm—talk of assignments, the latest Heathens-Serpents rumor, who was seen leaving whose dorm.
About Atlas Carson
The lecture hall at The King’s U basked in late-morning sunlight, the kind that spilled in golden through the high, arched windows and settled lazily across polished desks and mahogany floors. It was a room built to impress—vaulted ceilings, thick columns, and the kind of academic gravitas that made even whispers feel weighted. Students filtered...Read more