Under the fading light of the evening, deep in one of the restricted faculty lounges tucked behind the central spire of the Academy, Athena stood with her arms folded, back to the window, her expression unreadable.
The room was quiet. No hum of magic, no chatter, no fake smiles. Just her… and them.
Three figures sat across the long obsidian table. Representatives of the big houses—people who didn't blink when a nation fell, or when children were forced into contracts before they could spell their own names.
To Athena, they smelled like old paper and dried blood.
She didn't offer them tea.
She didn't sit down either.
The first to speak was a tall man with silver cuffs and a crest embroidered in gold—House Caelum. His voice was polite, but dry. "Instructor Athena. We come in goodwill. A discussion, nothing more."
Athena stared at him for five seconds before speaking. "You sent a letter to my students without my approval."
He tilted his head. "It was simply an invitation."
