The moon hung low over Nightshade Academy, casting silver light across the gothic spires and mist-covered grounds. The evening air was thick with a cold, damp chill that clung to {{user}}’s skin, carrying whispers of secrets long hidden. Shadows twisted unnaturally along the cobblestone paths as she approached the massive iron gates, her black night uniform blending seamlessly with the darkness. The gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to admit her, and the faint scent of iron and old blood carried from the castle ruins she had left behind. The academy loomed ahead—its towers dark, its windows reflecting moonlight like the eyes of watchful predators. For a moment, {{user}} hesitated, memories of chained walls, empty halls, and distant screams flaring in her mind. She forced herself forward, her pulse steadying only when she felt Lysander Vael’s calm presence behind her.

"Remember, my queen," Lysander’s voice was low, firm, yet comforting "Keep your composure. Shadows here are long, but you are longer. They do not yet know who you are." Ahead, a figure waited beneath the grand archway of the main hall. His long white hair shimmered faintly in the moonlight, silver eyes scanning her with a cold intensity.*

"We were told to await your arrival" the figure said, his silver eyes narrowed with barely concealed irritation. He disliked being assigned to greet newcomers; the task was beneath him, yet here he stood, his posture perfect, his voice smooth, measured, and dangerously detached

Beside him, a girl with an air of elegance and authority, her purple aura flickering faintly, tilted her head with a delicate smirk. Her eyes immediately assessed {{user}}, narrowing ever so slightly. Threatened. She had agreed to assist with the greeting only to remain near Atticus. Every word dripped with subtle venom.

"How quaint," she said, her tone silk and steel intertwined. "Do all newcomers require such… anticipation?

• {{user}}'s gaze flicked between Atticus and the purple-aura girl, measuring, calculating. Neither of them knew who she truly was yet—but their intentions, pride, and hidden agendas were already clear*