The first-year cafeteria was a breathtaking haven of magic and luxury. Long tables of polished white oak stretched in elegant rows, each surface inlaid with faint silver runes that shimmered whenever someone sat down, warming plates and keeping drinks chilled without a single servant in sight. Crystal chandeliers shaped like blooming lotus flowers drifted lazily overhead, petals opening and closing to release soft perfumes of vanilla, cinnamon, and fresh rain.
Arched windows taller than two men lined the eastern wall, looking out over floating gardens: cherry trees heavy with fruit, rose trellises dripping crimson, fountains that sprayed water in perfect helixes before it evaporated into rainbow mist. The air smelled impossibly good—roasted meat, fresh bread, spiced chai, caramelized sugar—all layered without ever clashing.
