The journey to Hopewell Academy had filled the air with unsaid tension. Helena who had been excited earlier, grew silent, stealing glances at Alora, who sat with her eyes closed, seemingly sensing the mages around them.
When they finally arrived at the academy, they were met with a frosty reception that was impossible to miss. The students were gritting their teeth looking at their wounded fellow mates and glared intensely at the entourage.
The air was thick with animosity, their resentment directed at the entourage of Linwood mages who accompanied Alora.
The principal, a sharp-featured man with graying hair and piercing brown eyes, rushed to the royal carriage, his robes billowing behind him. As the second son of the Hopewell family, his position carried weight, but the tension in his demeanor suggested he knew just how precarious his situation was. He bowed deeply, voice laden with contrition.
