​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."

​"The flowers might not, but my eyes will. First impressions are everything, Mael."

​Mael let out a long sigh. "Tsk, you’re far too much of a perfectionist."

​"That’s why Lord Rianor recruited me," Sera replied proudly. Finally, she smiled with satisfaction. The Snow Seruni flowers formed a perfect arch above the teakwood gate—pure white with a gradient of blue in the center—looking as if a piece of the spring sky had frozen there.

​Inside the courtyard, Torin—the old engineer whose hair was as white as silver—was kneeling beside the wooden stage. His hands, speckled with age spots, tapped against the support beams. Tap, tap.

​"Wobbly," he grumbled softly. "Hah, kids these days... can’t even drive a nail properly."

​"I’m the one who nailed that, Master Torin," Tam piped up, appearing with a face smeared with sawdust. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "The wood warped slightly because of the temperature, but I made sure they went ten centimeters deep."

​"Orin must have told you to hurry, didn’t he?" Torin snorted, spitting to the side. "Speed without precision is a recipe for ruins."

​"That’s what you always say, sir."

​"Because it is a law of nature, boy."

​On the other side of the yard, Lidia was arranging rows of guest chairs. The former nurse moved with high efficiency, her stern eyes counting each one. "Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... three short."

​"Oh, looking for these?" Yara appeared, carrying three folding chairs in each hand as if they were light as feathers. The girl from Hollowford grinned widely, making the tense atmosphere feel a bit more relaxed.

​"You know exactly what I’m thinking, Yara."

​"Of course. You’re too anxious, Lidia. Inhale, exhale. Everything will go smoothly."

​"You can’t guarantee that."

​"I can’t. But I can smile and pretend to be certain. Sometimes, that’s enough to deceive fate," Yara replied jokingly. Lidia could only snort, almost cracking a smile.

​Crowds began to fill the gates. There were factory workers in leather jackets smelling of oil, Hollowford farmers with faces carved by the sun, and Qaqortoq miners whose robes still held traces of crystal dust. They filled the back rows with enthusiasm. Young children sat on their fathers’ shoulders, pointing at the school building with sparkling eyes.

​In the front row, the grandeur became apparent as the regional lords arrived.

​Count Eddard Torsen was the first to arrive. Dressed in the deep blue robes of Torshavn with shimmering silver embroidery, he walked with a firm stride, though the lines of war-weariness still showed at the corners of his eyes. Grimm greeted him with a respectful bow.

​"A fine place," Eddard commented while observing the architecture. "Grand, yet grounded."

​"Lord Rianor drew the blueprints himself, Your Excellency," Grimm replied politely. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

​"Of course. Who else but him?"

​Shortly after, Count Hektor Torricelli of Northveil descended from his carriage. He walked fast—too fast for a nobleman—as if he couldn’t wait to dissect the secret behind such rapid construction. "This is insane. How did they build this when reconstruction in other regions isn’t even halfway done?" he whispered with a hint of envy he couldn’t hide.

​Count Lionel Andreas of Isafjord followed, walking with a slight limp from a wound sustained in the battle against the Brakkar. He, however, wore a wide smile. "The children of Isafjord must study here one day," he told Eddard. "We need more thinkers than just sword-wielders."

​Then came Countess Mira Frost of Frostmere. Her carriage left thin trails of ice on the road—remnants of her cold mana. Her silver gown shimmered, challenging the sun. Her sharp eyes immediately fixed on Elara, who was already on the stage. "So, she’s the one at the helm," she whispered. "Interesting."

​One by one, other nobles filled the seats. Baron Aldric Varn, with his gray beard, sat with the upright posture of a soldier. Baron Gerold Holloway of Hollowford wiped his plump neck with a handkerchief, panting from the long journey. Baron Corvin Salt of Saltspire immediately pestered Grimm about the registration schedule for his men.

​Even Viscount Roderick Qan arrived in grimy mining robes. "The mana crystals can wait in the ground," he said when scolded by a servant. "But my children’s future cannot."

​Lastly, Count Merrick East of East-Port sat with a mysterious smile that was hard to read, crossing his legs as he waited for the ceremony to begin.

​Suddenly, a hush fell over the area as the Sudrath family entered the courtyard.

​Lucian led the way. Simple, wearing only a black suit with a wolf-head pin on his collar. Beside him, Aurelia looked elegant in a deep blue gown, her hand clutching her husband’s fingers tightly. Behind them followed a gallant Riven in military uniform, Elena carrying Kaelven, and Rhea cradling Ana with Arvid by her side. Roland, Rumina, Raveena, and Raphael followed with dignified steps.

​On the stage, Rianor stood directly behind Elara’s wheelchair. His hands rested firmly on the handles, his eyes scanning the crowd before he whispered in his wife’s ear.

​"Ready?"

​Elara took a deep breath, wetting her dry lips. "I’m ready."

​Grimm stepped forward to the microphone. His heavy, calm voice echoed through every corner of the courtyard. "Ladies and Gentlemen. His Majesty, King Lucian Sudrath."

​Lucian stepped up to the podium. He carried no speech papers. His eyes swept over his people one by one—from the farmers to the proudest nobles.

​"Hmm, I won’t give a long speech," he began. His voice was low but possessed a powerful resonance. "You are full of sweet promises. You have seen for yourselves what we can build from the ruins of war when we stop bickering and start working."

​He turned toward the school building. The teak gates, the floral arch, and the large windows reflecting the light.

​"This kingdom was built by hands. Factories, roads, bridges, and the war machines that protect you. All from hands that refuse to give up." He looked back at the crowd. "But this school... this school will fill the minds behind those hands. Our children will not just learn how to hold a weapon. They will learn how to think."

​Lucian paused for a moment, letting the spring wind flutter the edge of his cloak.

​"And a sharp mind is the most lethal weapon ever created."

​The applause was thunderous. Lucian merely gave a brief nod, then stepped back to make room for Grimm.

​"The Headmistress of Seruni School. Lady Elara Sudrath."

​Rianor pushed Elara’s wheelchair slowly to the microphone. He locked the wheels with a firm click, then stood silently beside his wife—an unshakable pillar of support.

​Elara stared at the hundreds of pairs of eyes in front of her. Her heart hammered in her chest; her hands in her lap squeezed each other. But when she felt Rianor’s presence beside her, the nervousness evaporated.

​"There was a time in my life when I couldn’t walk," her voice was calm yet clear. "When I lost my magic. When I felt... like my world had ended."

​Silence. Even the small children stopped whining.

​"But someone told me: ’You aren’t just a mage who happens to be paralyzed. You are Elara. And that is more than enough.’" She paused, her eyes briefly glancing at Rianor before returning to the masses. "Today, I stand before you—sit before you—as proof that he was right."

​Aurelia appeared to wipe the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief. Rhea, usually as cold as ice, looked at Elara with a rare spark of admiration.

​"This is not a school of magic," Elara continued, her voice now firmer. "Nor is it a military academy. We do not wish to produce students who only know how to obey. The world is already full of people who can only follow orders without question." She pointed to her own temple. "We want students who dare to ask ’why’ and ’how.’ Students who are not afraid to use their own minds."

​She looked straight at the children in the back rows. "Because what is inside your heads is the only thing that cannot be stolen by any enemy, or by even the cruelest fate."

​There was a moment of silence, then one person began to clap. Count Eddard. Then Count Hektor, Mira Frost, until the entire courtyard erupted in a cheer that shook the air. Elara bowed her head, her lips trembling with emotion, but her smile was beautiful.

​Rianor leaned down slightly, whispering right in her ear. "I am so proud of you."

​Elara didn’t answer with words; she simply reached for Rianor’s hand and squeezed it tight.

​Lucian stepped forward again with a pair of large silver scissors in his hand. He walked toward the main gate where a red ribbon was stretched. He paused, looking at the ribbon, then at the clear spring sky.

​"This is not just a ribbon," he said without the aid of a microphone, yet his voice remained authoritative. "This is the boundary between our rigid past and a limitless future."

​Snip... The ribbon was cut.

​"SERUNI SCHOOL—OFFICIALLY OPEN!"

​Two workers pulled the covering cloth above the gate. The name "SERUNI SCHOOL" carved from silver on teakwood shimmered in the sunlight. The name was simple, yet it felt eternal.

​Cheers broke out again. Children ran through the newly opened gates, laughing joyfully. The nobles shook hands, and the citizens began to crowd in, eager to see the interior of the building.

​Rianor pushed Elara’s wheelchair into the school courtyard, which still smelled of new wood and fresh paint. Behind them, the Sudrath family and the city’s rulers followed with steps full of hope.

​In the middle of the sun-drenched yard, Elara looked at the grand building before her. "We did it, Rianor," she whispered softly.

​Rianor gripped his wife’s shoulder, his gaze sharp as he looked toward the future. "This is just the beginning, Elara. Just the beginning."

​Outside the gate, the Snow Seruni flowers continued to bloom, swaying gently in the morning breeze. White with blue in the center—exactly like the new dawn that had just risen over Northreach.