Krieeet...
The iron gates of Seruni School creaked open, welcoming a crowd that had swarmed even before the sun had fully revealed itself. The sky over Iron Hearth was still a pale gray, the air bitingly cold against the nose—a blend of damp earth and the scent of factory chimney smoke beginning to billow in the distance. Factory workers, farmers in faded shirts, and former soldiers in patched leather jackets stood shoulder to shoulder. Some held the hands of sleepy children, while others came alone, carrying hope in the pockets of their worn-out clothes.
Along the pathway, four personnel from the Nightshade Sentinels stood tall. Their black uniforms contrasted sharply with the shabby crowd. Their expressions were cold, but occasionally their hands moved fluidly, signaling the line to remain orderly.
