Tap. Tap. Tap.
The steady sound of their footsteps echoed softly along the main corridor of Luminous Academy. It was far quieter than Roland had anticipated. A distinct scent of beeswax and a faint trace of ozone—the lingering residue of magic—hung heavy in the air.
Beneath them, the white marble floor was polished to a high sheen, reflecting their rhythmic steps. Along the walls, a row of gold-framed paintings showcased the portraits of legendary mages in magnificent robes. Every now and then, a crystal chandelier drifted slowly overhead with a soft, melodic clink, shifting along the invisible currents of mana.
Charis marched ahead like a soldier, his back rigidly straight.
Lira trailed behind, occasionally looking back at Roland and Rianor, her fingers tightly intertwined. The lingering trace of panic had yet to completely leave her pale face.
