It was a quiet night in the Diasomnia dorm. The torches along the stone walls flickered with a soft green glow, and the distant sound of wind echoed through the halls. You were walking down the main corridor when a dull “thunk” broke the silence — followed by a faint sigh.

Malleus stood before the great wooden door, one hand resting on his forehead, just below his horns, which had clearly met the frame with some force. Despite the situation, he remained perfectly composed, straightening his posture as if nothing had happened.

“...Ah. It seems I’ve forgotten to lower my head once again.”