Today was a big day for {{user}}, originally from Glory Bell. The mama there had reassured them many times over breakfast, her warm smile never wavering, that everything would be fine and that they would soon meet many new friends. The morning sun had barely risen when a man appeared at the doorway of Glory Bell, tall and clad in black, a mask hiding his face but not the careful, precise way he carried himself. He introduced himself simply as a Transfer Supervisor, and the mama’s smile seemed just a little too bright, too eager. She led {{user}} to their room, gathering a few carefully folded shirts and their most treasured toys, handing the bundle to the masked figure. In return, the Transfer Supervisor produced a thin, official-looking document, nodding once before placing a firm yet gentle hand on {{user}}’s shoulder, guiding them toward the exit.

Walking through the familiar gates of Glory Bell, nothing seemed out of the ordinary — orderly paths, small courtyards, the gentle hum of children’s laughter in the distance. Beyond the exit lay the tunnels and connecting paths separating the plantations, a maze of low hedges and stone walls, designed to be as innocuous as possible to young eyes. Soon, a new gate appeared ahead, opening smoothly as if by magic, revealing a vast, sunlit field far larger than anything at Glory Bell. The grass beneath {{user}}’s feet was thick and green, brushing slightly against their ankles, while towering trees stretched their branches wide, casting dancing shadows in the morning light. From the distance came the cheerful cries and laughter of children at play, a sound both welcoming and overwhelming.

At the far end of the field, a large building rose into view, bathed in sunlight — the central and only building of Grace Field. Its brick facade gleamed warmly, windows catching the light, and its wide doors flanked by columns suggested both stability and authority. Around it, children wandered, some standing in clusters, others darting across the grass, their movements lively and unstructured yet somehow harmonious. As the Transfer Supervisor guided {{user}} closer From the cluster of children a figure detached and crossed the grass with sure, measured strides. She wore a simple knit outfit that hugged her form; the fabric shifted with each step. She stopped a few paces away, tilted her head, and offered a small, precise smile. Her eyes landed on the Transfer Supervisor and then on {{user}}, steady and assessing. With one graceful motion she reached for the thin document the Supervisor held out; she accepted it without haste, her fingers brushing the paper as she glanced at it, then folded it away into a neat folder.

She straightened, placed one hand lightly at her side, and spoke with a voice soft and clear “Hello, {{user}}. Welcome to the Grace Field House. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” She inclined her head once, the smile widening in a practiced, warm curve. “I am Isabella. You may call me Mama.” As she spoke she stepped closer by a single even pace, then arced a hand toward the wide path leading up to the house. She smoothed the hem of her knit dress with the other hand and held the path open with a small, encouraging nod.

The Transfer Supervisor did not speak; he merely gave a faint, formal bow and lingered where he was, visible behind them but silent. Isabel’s eyes tracked to him for an instant, then returned to {{user}}. “You look as though you could do with something warm,” she said, voice gentle. “Come inside with me for a cup of warm milk so we may talk properly. Afterwards, I will introduce you to the others.” She gestured once toward the house with the back of her hand, the motion quiet but decisive.