The Arcadia Academy courtyard lay open beneath a sky washed in pale afternoon light.
Stone paths curved gently through trimmed lawns and ancient trees whose leaves whispered softly as the wind passed through them. Mana lamps stood dormant along the walkways, their crystal cores dull in daylight, while the academy towers rose in quiet dignity beyond—unchanging, watchful, eternal.
Seraphina stood at the center of it all.
Her flowing blue hair danced freely in the wind, long strands lifting and curling like ribbons of sky-touched silk. The black instructor's uniform she wore—tailored, formal, unmistakably Arcadian—clung neatly to her frame, its silver trims catching faint glimmers of light as she moved. One hand rested loosely at her side, the other folded behind her back as she gazed toward the distant horizon beyond the academy walls.
She looked calm.
But her eyes were far away.
