The east portico was a grand, columned structure designed to impress visiting dignitaries with the academy's architectural majesty. Its high, vaulted ceiling and sweeping marble steps were meant for ceremonial welcomes and formal farewells, not for receiving the broken, dust-caked survivors of an underground nightmare. The contrast was jarring—the pale, polished stone and the grey, institutional light now served as a stage for human wreckage.
Pallets lined the colonnade. Healers moved between them with grim efficiency, their hands glowing with soft, restorative magic. Orderlies carried stretchers, their faces set in the controlled compassion of professionals. The air was thick with the sounds of suffering—low moans, stifled sobs, and the sharp, urgent whispers of medical assessment.
