The room was silent, but not empty.
Tall windows let in soft morning light, painting long shadows across polished darkwood floors. Rich crimson curtains were drawn just enough to cast the interior in a warm glow. The scent of ink, parchment, and blooming winter roses filled the space—a subtle blend of diplomacy and discipline.
Seraphina of Valor stood at the center—no throne behind her, no guards at her side, no need for pretense.
Just her, a long table, and a dozen carefully arranged documents.
Student performance records.
Faculty assignments.
Event schedules.
Social charts.
A folded copy of the academy charter sat at one corner, sealed with gold thread.
She scanned the material in silence, long fingers resting lightly on the edge of a dossier marked with the names of high-performing first-years.
Her expression was neutral.
Her mind was not.
