The academy's corridors unfurled into a seemingly infinite expanse, an oppressive silence draping over the space like an unseen shroud, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic drone of the ventilation systems.
Above, an intricate lattice of glass and steel stretched toward the heavens, permitting shafts of artificial sunlight to cascade down in a gilded, almost ethereal luminance.
The radiance kissed the immaculately polished floors, imbuing them with a deceptive semblance of warmth—an illusion swiftly betrayed by the sterile, clinical chill that clung to the air like an unshakable specter.
Silas advanced with deliberate, almost mechanical precision, each step measured, each breath drawn with a strained hush.
His fingers flexed before coiling into fists at his sides, tension thrumming through his frame like a coiled spring on the verge of release.
He did not belong here.
Or perhaps—
We did not belong here.
