The faint scent of parchment and chalk dust hung thickly in the air, blending into something warm and herbal wafting from the communal cooking fires just outside the orphanage. Amberine inhaled softly, taking comfort in the familiar aroma. The orphanage's classroom was never pretentious, nor did it pretend to be. It felt real, honest. Rough benches, hastily repaired with mismatched wood, sat in uneven rows. On the walls, faded glyphs drawn in chalk intertwined with colorful mana circles painted clumsily by tiny, enthusiastic fingers. Elegant? Hardly. Functional? Absolutely.
Amberine's gaze shifted toward the doorway just as Draven's footsteps faded beyond its threshold. He paused briefly, though he didn't look back. His voice was as calm and cold as usual.
"I'm leaving the rest to you," he said evenly, his words resonating quietly into the humble space.
"Yes, Professor," Amberine and Elara answered automatically in unison, their voices mingling together, respectfully measured.
