The Elders Hall was ancient stone and shadow, high vaulted ceilings disappearing into darkness above while enchanted globes cast cold white light across a polished obsidian table. The air itself felt heavy—compressed by centuries of decisions, power, and the weight of those who wielded it.
Eleven council members sat in deliberate arrangement. Four women and seven men, all middle-aged or bearing the marks of advanced years, their eyes carrying the weight of authority and hard-won experience. At the head of the table sat Marcus Litherane, the headmaster—silver-white hair swept back elegantly, a distinguished moustache paired with a small, carefully groomed beard. His aura pressed down on the room like a physical force, oppressive and absolute.
