Work Text:
A still silence covered the room. It’s unusually tense, as if a knife could cut through it. Looking through the dark double-doors, tables with benches for seats can be seen. Some are hewn and struck down. Others-mostly those to the left side-are left untouched. To the far back-right, rubble has destroyed a large portion of the room. A spilled inkwell cascades over a half-written paper with battle strategies on it, as though an un-finished assignment for unknown reasons. Weapon and armor stands remain stock still off to the right. Many are missing or covered in dried blood. The stale, crimson stench is present throughout the entire room.
Moving forward, a chalkboard near the back of the room stands half-erased. Next to it stands a flag, the same one that adorns the entrance to the room. It’s torn and ripped to shreds. The distinct symbol of a twin headed-eagle with its wings half-wrapped can barely be made out. What was once a vivid red and gold flag is now a dull remnant of its former brightness. There's a podium that is turned over beside the remains of the flag. It looked as if it was ransacked in a rush. A trail trickling with blood leads to a helmet. It’s dented in and cast aside to the stones on the floor. The trail of blood continues farther on.
A desk rummaged through lies beyond it. Stacks of papers and lessons are cast aside on the cold ground below. There is a secret compartment forced open with yellowed pages of letters. They all are signed “Adrestian Empire” or “T.W.S.” sealed with a unique pattern. Something is off, yet only just. Hidden in the letters there is a dagger, coated in recently dried blood among hues of brown and black indicating recent use. Intricate patterns run up and down the lightning-bolt blade. Each holds some type of cryptic rune containing a mysterious dark magic connected to a pentagram in front of the desk.
The pentagram contains a strange magic. It sits in an almost awaiting manner, as if waiting for something through the flickering shadows of the interior. The circle is the source of blood, as well as the magic. It slowly seeps out endlessly. Obscured windows reflect the faint hue, tinging the air a deep purple. Pulsing, it carries out its duty haunting the once brightly filled room. Showing no signs of stopping, the blood persists through the cracks of stone. In a hollow classroom behind creaking doors, a trace of scarlet can be seen around the corners. Lingering there, never dissipating.