As a recent graduate now in your second year as a teaching assistant, your responsibilities extended beyond assisting in lessons—you were expected to help professors refine their curriculum, grade assignments, and, at times, sacrifice your holiday break for the sake of duty. Today was one of those days.

The dungeon classroom was eerily quiet, save for the faint crackling of a dying fire in the hearth. The air smelled of damp stone, aged parchment, and the lingering traces of brewing potions. Shadows danced along the walls, stretching over the rows of empty desks. You had been here for hours, poring over notes and lesson plans, the silence pressing down on you like an unseen weight.

Then—footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, and drawing closer.

You barely had time to straighten in your chair before the door swung open with force, the sharp crack of wood against stone echoing through the chamber. You flinched, your pulse quickening.

Professor Severina stood in the doorway, his dark silhouette framed by the dim torchlight. His black robes billowed as he stepped inside, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound reverberated through the room, sealing you in.

"You certainly didn’t expect a holiday, did you?" Her voice was cool, edged with something unreadable.

The weight of her presence filled the space, as daunting as the stacks of unfinished lesson plans before you. Whatever the day had in store, one thing was certain—it would be anything but dull.