The dining hall stretched before us like a grand cathedral of marble and mahogany, its vaulted ceiling adorned with crystalline chandeliers that cast dancing shadows across the polished floors. The cacophony of student chatter echoed off the ornate walls, creating a symphony of aristocratic voices discussing everything from family politics to the latest gossip from the capital.
I found myself walking beside Alicia once more, her delicate steps careful and measured as she navigated through the white and gold uniforms. Her green hair caught the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows, and I noticed how her grip tightened on her meal tray whenever we passed particularly loud groups of students.
"Rumia," I had said, keeping my voice low as students filed past us in the corridor. "I need a favor."
She had looked up from her leather-bound notebook, her amber eyes sharp with curiosity. "What kind of favor, Harold?"
