The night had dissipated without fanfare, as if carefully gathered by invisible hands to give way to a new cycle. The first light of morning streamed through the tall windows of the Training Center, filtering in soft tones that glided across the walls and floor with an almost ironic delicacy for a place that breathed discipline, blood, and power. The world outside was slowly awakening, but within that space… something had been in motion for much longer.
In the kitchen of the reserved quarters, Serafall moved with an unusual lightness for someone of her position. There was no rigidity in her gestures, nor that calculated coldness that defined her presence before subordinates. There, in that isolated space, there was only fluidity. She hummed softly, a gentle and unhurried melody, while moving among the utensils with a natural familiarity, as if that kind of routine was something she rarely allowed herself… but which she mastered perfectly.
