"Can you for once… try not to get in trouble, Miss Araceli?"
Headmaster Lazuardi's voice carried the particular weariness of a man who had asked this question many times to more than one person and never received the desired answer.
He sat behind his massive desk, a construct of dark wood and floating crystal panels that shifted and rearranged themselves according to some internal logic.
The office around them could be said to be quite a marvel of magical architecture.
Walls lined with books that whispered to each other in the language of ancient spells, a ceiling that displayed the current positions of celestial bodies in glowing miniature, and countless orbs of various sizes floating in lazy orbits, each containing recorded moments, surveillance feeds, and correspondence waiting to be read.
Cecilia ignored the headmaster's pointed look entirely.
"How's Oathran?" she asked.
