Noah stood in front of the wide, marble reception desk, feeling the chill of the air in the Special Training Room Hall.
It was a massive building, with high ceilings and walls lined with intricate designs, giving off an aura of prestige and importance. His heart beat steadily in his chest as he approached the woman behind the desk.
She was middle-aged, with her hair tied into a tight bun, her eyes fixed on the clipboard in front of her as she scribbled down notes with quick, efficient strokes.
"Name?" she asked, her voice clipped and professional.
"Noah Ashbourne," he answered, his tone steady.
The woman didn't look up as she jotted down the details. "Year?"
Noah hesitated for a moment. "First year."
"Age?"
"Sixteen."
She continued writing, her hand moving quickly across the paper, still not sparing him a glance. There was a long pause before she asked, "Class?"
