The sun had dipped low by the time I returned to my dorm, its last rays painting the sky in streaks of soft orange and deep violet. The lamplights along the stone paths flickered to life one by one, their gentle, enchanted glow responding to the encroaching dusk. The air was cooler now, quieter, carrying the scent of damp earth and the distant, fading hum of the day's activity. For once, there was a sense of peace that felt earned, a quiet respite from the relentless storm of my new life.
My footsteps slowed as I reached the large oak door of the boys' dormitory wing. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I wasn't exhausted by brutal duels or haunted by the cursed memories of a black-market auction.
Just plans.
So many damn plans.
Menus. Layouts. Staffing schedules. Cooking logistics. Festival time slots. If this were Earth, I would have just googled "how to open a restaurant" and been done with it.
