Hay stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his boots echoing softly against the polished stone floor. The room carried a somber weight, the only source of light emanating from a dull, enchanted orb suspended in the center of the ceiling. Shadows danced along the walls, mirroring the grim expressions of those seated around the round table. Four chairs were placed at the cardinal points, each occupied by one of the academy's key instructors.
Luther stood at the head, his expression heavy with unspoken tension. His weathered hands rested on the table, knuckles whitening as he began to speak.
"I've received disturbing news from the third plane," Luther began, his deep voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "The angels have withdrawn their forces, abandoning their posts. As a result, our front lines are being torn apart by the howlers. We can't afford to proceed with this training as planned. Time is against us."
