The warm glow of the late morning sun filtered through the windows as Lyra made her way across the campus. The exhaustion from the tournament still lingered in her body, but there was a lightness to her steps—a sense of accomplishment and pride in how far she'd come.
She paused outside Dean Adkins' office, smoothing her hair and adjusting her sword before knocking on the door.
"Come in," came the familiar commanding voice.
Lyra pushed the door open, stepping into the grand room. The Dean's office was just as she remembered it: shelves lined with ancient tomes, a large desk at the center, and a faint scent of parchment and ink in the air. Dean Adkins stood by the window, her sharp eyes turning to Lyra as she entered.
"Ah, Lyra," the Dean said, her voice steady but warm. "Thank you for coming."
Lyra gave a respectful nod. "You asked to see me, Dean?"
Dean Adkins gestured to the chair in front of her desk. "Please, sit. We have a lot to discuss."
