The director's office had been dressed to impress, its walls lined with enchanted oak panels, runes humming faintly across the ceiling. Through the wide crystal windows, the muffled roar of the crowd still reached inside—thousands of voices emptying from the arena, echoing like a fading tide.
Nicolas von Aldros sat comfortably in the high-backed chair behind the desk, a glass of dwarven red wine swirling in his hand. His posture was relaxed, his expression mild, the weight of the entire tournament nothing more than a conversation piece to him now.
Across from him, Redna of Luceria lounged with a calm grace, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Beside her stood the headmaster of Velmora, a sharp-faced demon whose robes still carried the faint smell of brimstone. The three of them, rivals in the eyes of the public, were now nothing more than colleagues trading words after the storm had passed.
