The whisper of rain tapped gently against the windows of Crimson Vale Academy, its rhythm steady—measured—like a ticking clock counting down to something unseen.
Beyond the glass, thunder rolled across the sky, a distant growl of things to come.
Inside, shadows shifted. Not in the halls, not in the corridors—but in hearts. In silence. In strategy.
At the center of it all sat Vaelith Wren.
Elegant. Cold. Calculative.
Her every gesture was crafted, every word a blade wrapped in velvet. A strategist cloaked in silk and spite.
And like all storms… it began with a whisper.
It began with a report.
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August 28th – Council Office – 9:32 AM
Golden morning light slanted through the tall, cathedral windows of the council office, catching dust in the air like frozen fireflies.
Vaelith sat behind her polished mahogany desk, the reflection of her glasses mirroring the soft glow of her private console. Her fingers moved with mechanical grace, inputting commands with speed and silence.
