The Hall of Presence hadn't moved.
Neither had she.
The Dean stood in the center of the platform, feet square, coat still, hands relaxed at her sides. No flicker of power. No theatrics. Just silence stretching far enough for breath to catch and thoughts to sharpen.
Then, finally, she began to walk.
One step. Then another.
Her heels didn't echo. The stone beneath her didn't muffle the sound—it absorbed it. Like the hall recognized who she was and made space for it quietly.
She walked toward the edge of the platform.
No spotlight shifted. No change in lighting. Just her voice.
"There was a time," she said, "when no one had powers."
Still calm. Still even.
"No gifts. No abilities. No cults. No Forbidden Zones crawling with beasts."
She let that settle. A few students blinked, unsure whether she was speaking metaphorically or literally.
"We had cities. Satellites. Governments that argued over water and oil. We used to fight over borders and broadcast it across the sky."
