That morning, Iron Hearth glistened under a blanket of fresh snow.
At the gates of Seruni School, history held its breath, waiting to be written.
Sera stood before the stone pillars, her slender fingers busy adjusting the floral wreaths coiled around them. She wore a light blue robe with silver embroidery on the collar—the uniform of an educator. It wasn't the expensive silk robe she had worn as a private tutor in the Sol-Regis palace, but this was the robe that made her stand taller.
"Hmm, still slightly tilted to the left," she murmured. She stepped back, squinting her eyes to judge her handiwork.
"You've adjusted it three times, Sera. Three times," Mael remarked from behind. The young man with thick glasses clutched a stack of documents—guest lists, event schedules, and speech drafts. Sret... he pushed his sliding glasses up with his index finger. "The flowers won't complain if they're off by a centimeter."
