The sky above Arcadia Academy was overcast.
Not stormy. Not thundering.
Just… gray.
Muted. As if the heavens themselves had draped a mourning veil across the sun.
We were all released from the infirmary that morning. Physically healed, at least. But none of us felt light. Not really.
The weight hadn't left.
And it only grew heavier as we stepped into the great ceremonial hall.
The same place where, not so long ago, the orientation had taken place—filled with light, cheers, dreams.
Now, it was draped in black and silver.
Rows upon rows of students had gathered, all in formal uniform. Professors stood near the front, silent. Even the ever-talkative Kyle didn't mutter a word.
And there, on the stage, stood Professor Seraphina.
Her long silver-blue hair was tied back into a simple braid. Her usual sharp poise was still there, but today… it felt softened. Dimmed.
Her black robe flowed behind her like ink in water. In her hands was a folded parchment.
