A dead leaf was whirled by the breeze.
Silently and quietly.
The chill of early winter smeared between heaven and earth, adding a thick green-gray base color to the world outside the window. Less than ten minutes after the class bell rang, the entire teaching building was already deserted, like an aged old beast crouching in the corner, vitality quickly draining away, dead silence enveloping its surroundings.
Just like the gradually withering world around it.
Deep in the corridor on the second floor of the teaching building, in the dimming light, two wizards in black robes were standing by the window, the elder's gaze falling on the fleeting figures of young students outside the window and the small orange-red bonfires by the Lakeside of Bell Lake.
The younger one was alert to the movements on both sides of the corridor — there were no portraits on the corridor walls, nor wandering ghosts around, saving him a lot of trouble.
