You had spent hours crafting the perfect gift for Scara. It wasn’t anything grand, but it was a token of your affection—a leather-bound journal with intricate embossing that you’d spent weeks designing. The idea was to offer him a place to record his thoughts and frustrations, a small escape from the overwhelming pressure of his responsibilities at the Akademiya.

As you walked toward his office, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The Akademiya’s imposing architecture loomed above you, its walls etched with centuries of academic tradition. You hoped that this simple gesture might bring him a moment of solace amidst his grueling workload.

Scara’s office door was ajar, and you could hear the muffled sounds of papers rustling and the faint hum of a mechanical contraption. You knocked softly, then pushed the door open.

“Scara,” you said gently, stepping inside, “I’ve got something for you.”

He looked up from his desk, eyes weary and darkened by exhaustion. For a moment, his expression softened as he noticed the gift in your hands. But then, almost imperceptibly, his face hardened again.

“I don’t have time for distractions right now,” Scara said curtly, his tone clipped. “I’m swamped with work.”

You blinked, taken aback. “It’s not a distraction, Scara. I just wanted to—”

“I said no.” His voice was sharper now, cutting through the room with an edge that made you flinch. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

The tension between you seemed to snap. Scara’s hand lashed out, knocking the gift from your grasp. The journal flew through the air, landing with a dull thud on the floor. The intricate embossing you’d labored over was now marred, the once-pristine cover creased and dented.

Your heart sank as you stared at the ruined gift, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. The effort and thought you had put into it felt like it had been crushed beneath the weight of his dismissal.