The mechanical bell was ear-splitting—BRRRIIING!—its vibrations traveling from the stone walls down to the wooden tiles beneath Raphael's feet. The sound still felt foreign, an anomaly amidst the usual silence of Iron Hearth, which was typically filled only by the roar of factory engines. For some students, it was the bell of freedom; for others, it was the signal to begin a new chapter of the day.
A mass of students spilled out from the large classrooms, creating two contrasting currents. The Advanced group marched with chins held high and steady strides—they had a purpose. Meanwhile, the Basic group moved more slowly, punctuated by light laughter or the shuffling sound of paper being hurriedly stuffed into bags. The scent of old wood and the sharp aroma of ink filled the corridors.
