When they finally crossed the entrance, a wave of warmth wrapped around them. It was gentle and diffuse, as if the room had been prepared for hours to welcome this moment. The dining hall—normally carried by the midday’s messy noise—seemed to have vanished beneath the festive décor. Nothing betrayed the everyday place they knew.

  The long tables had been moved and rearranged, freeing a wide space in the center. One could walk there freely, and later in the evening, dancing would have its place. White tablecloths with silvery reflections covered every surface. Crystal chandeliers cast a muted light, caught in frosted ornaments like snow held perfectly still.

  From the ceiling, multicolored ribbons descended in elegant arcs—like fragments of rainbows suspended above their heads.

  The scent of warm bread and prepared dishes mingled with that of winter bouquets set on the tables. Everything hummed with controlled bustle: students guided their families with pride, professors chatted near the buffets still closed, and bursts of laughter rose now and then before sinking back into the general murmur.

  Le?na, eyes wide, tugged gently at Elwyn’s sleeve.

  — It’s huge… and it sparkles everywhere.

  Elwyn glanced at her. His usual calm remained, yet a discreet light had kindled at the back of his eyes. Le?na was taking in the hall with the excitement of a bird discovering a sky larger than expected.

  Nearby, Sylaria looked on with quiet wonder.

  — They really prepared everything… it almost looks like a ballroom.

  Loyd answered in an amused breath:

  — And this is just our dining hall.

  Nahira nodded.

  — That’s exactly what makes it impressive.

  Arimélia, slightly behind, let her eyes follow the ribbons and chandeliers. The reflections slid over her folded wings, caught the curve of her horns, then vanished. Her tail swayed faintly behind her—an emotion she was trying to keep contained.

  Ophélia paused for a moment to take in the room. Her eyes moved from families to students, then lingered on Elwyn. An imperceptible breath slipped past her lips, as though an old memory had risen with the lanterns’ warmth.

  Volden, meanwhile, was already studying the buffets with suspicious diligence. He finally turned back toward them.

  — They know how to attract guests, it seems.

  Ophélia stopped him at once.

  — Not yet. They’re waiting until everyone is seated before opening.

  — Very well. I’ll wait. With difficulty, Volden admitted, feigning seriousness.

  Loyd slapped his shoulder.

  — We’ll survive together.

  — I’m counting on you.

  The hall kept filling. The murmur thickened, punctuated by delighted exclamations, embraces, greetings. A promise floated in the air: the promise of a grand evening.

  Nahira turned to the group.

  — We should find seats before it’s full.

  Le?na immediately squeezed Elwyn’s hand.

  — I want to be near you.

  — Alright.

  Together they moved toward the larger tables, weaving between guests, and found an empty spot. They hung their coats on the assigned rack. Around them, light, voices, and smells blended into an almost tangible harmony.

  Everything suggested the evening was only beginning.

  A shiver ran through the hall when the doors opened again.

  The Divinity Ogme entered, accompanied by Nalinaya. A subtle ripple spread through the room, and the conversations died at once, as if the entire hall had learned to breathe on the same rhythm.

  Ogme walked to the front. Nalinaya took her place to his right. Professor Ezekiel settled to his left, face closed, already prepared not to smile.

  When silence became total, Ogme rose on a platform of ether. He lifted a hand.

  His voice—deep and steady—filled the space with an almost unreal gentleness, as though he were speaking to each person individually.

  — Dear students. Dear professors. Dear guests who have come from far away to see those you love grow.

  He paused briefly. His gaze moved over the room, and it felt as though he held each face one by one.

  — One year ends and another prepares to begin. This cycle, we all know it. But it is never only a transition. It is a passage. A threshold—sometimes crossed without a sound, sometimes with difficulty—but always with one more step toward what each of you is becoming.

  Some students sat up straighter. A few professors exchanged discreet looks. Even the lanterns seemed to listen.

  — You have gone through trials. You have known doubt. You have discovered your strengths—sometimes by chance, sometimes by falling before you rose again. And that, too, is part of knowledge.

  His voice did not rise. It rooted itself.

  — Knowledge is not only what you learn in books or on the benches of this Academy. It is also what you discover about yourselves when no one is watching.

  Nalinaya lowered her eyes slightly, in silent agreement.

  — This year, you have grown. Not all in the same way. Not all at the same speed. But all with sincerity. And I wish to congratulate you for it.

  He drew a quiet breath. The hall held its own.

  — To those who continue their studies, I say one thing: keep searching. Keep questioning. Keep being wrong. Error is never an end. It is a lesson you do not forget.

  A tremor—almost relief—moved from table to table.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  — For here, in this Academy, error is permitted so it will not be repeated when you become adults.

  He turned his head toward the families.

  — To parents, to mentors, to friends… thank you. You offer these young people the trust they need to become themselves. Without you, their path would be far more difficult.

  Then his gaze returned to the students.

  — A year ends. But you never truly leave what you have learned here. You are its guardians, its bearers, its heirs. And when you return—no matter in how many seasons—you will always find a place within these walls.

  He lowered his hand slightly.

  — I wish you an evening of peace, joy, and sharing. May this banquet mark the end of one stage and the beginning of another. And may your minds remain open, for the light of knowledge never goes out.

  He descended back to the floor and bowed his head.

  A deep silence followed the last word.

  Then the hall erupted into applause, like a wave finally released, rising up to the suspended ribbons.

  Sylaria was the first in the group to breathe again. She watched Ogme with quiet admiration.

  — It only takes one speech for everything to feel bigger, she murmured.

  Loyd nodded, oddly thoughtful.

  — He talks like each of us really matters.

  — Because that’s the case, Nahira replied in a low voice.

  Her eyes stayed fixed toward the front, arms crossed, yet a respectful light animated her gaze. She was not one to show what she felt easily. Still, something in her posture had loosened.

  Arimélia looked absorbed. The divinity’s words had left a visible trace: her wings quivered almost imperceptibly—her tail too.

  — He really sees each of us… she whispered, addressing no one.

  Ophélia, beside Elwyn, pressed a hand to her chest as if to steady her heartbeat.

  — Knowledge never leaves those who want to understand it.

  Volden smiled, less mocking than before.

  — Now we understand why he is the Divinity of Knowledge and Learning.

  Le?na, who had listened without moving, looked at Elwyn with bright eyes.

  — He speaks well.

  Elwyn did not answer immediately. The speech left a quiet echo within him—not a visible emotion, but a kind of peace.

  At last, he nodded.

  — Yes. He speaks the truth.

  Nalinaya rose in her turn and lifted herself the same way, lower, as if she did not seek to take the space—only to inhabit it.

  Calm returned almost at once.

  — At this year’s end, remember what you have accomplished. Even the most discreet steps—the smallest ones—have carried you farther than you think.

  Her voice was gentle and steady, yet filled with a quiet strength.

  — Be proud of what you have done. Be curious about the opportunities of the new year. But above all, be patient with yourselves. And most of all, move forward without fearing the road… for you never travel it alone.

  She dipped her head slightly.

  — I wish you all a luminous evening.

  The applause was less loud, but deeper—warm with sincerity.

  Sylaria exhaled, admiring.

  — She speaks less than Divinity Ogme, but every word stays a long time.

  Loyd leaned toward her.

  — That’s what gives her charm.

  Nahira corrected, dry but fair:

  — That’s what makes her exact.

  Volden nodded.

  — You can feel she knows her students. And understands them. You see why she’s vice-director.

  Ophélia watched Nalinaya sit again beside Ogme. A respectful softness crossed her gaze.

  — She speaks with real kindness. Not the kind you learn—the kind that already exists inside you.

  Le?na tugged on Elwyn’s sleeve, eyes still on Nalinaya.

  — She was nice when she talked… it felt like she wanted everyone to feel reassured.

  Elwyn gave her a brief glance, then looked back to the vice-director.

  He said nothing.

  Silence was enough to show he understood.

  Ezekiel, who had remained back until then, stood as well. He did not need to raise his voice: the dry sound of his boots against the floor silenced the last murmurs.

  He swept the hall with a neutral gaze.

  — I have two words to add.

  His calm, precise voice snapped like a clean line drawn straight.

  — This year has not been brilliant for everyone. Some did the strict minimum. Others stagnated with remarkable consistency. A few, however, at least had the merit of not making their situation worse—which, for them, is a non-negligible success.

  A nervous shiver passed through several tables.

  Loyd sank discreetly lower on the bench. Sylaria stifled a laugh. Nahira nodded, as if she approved of the professor’s blunt honesty.

  Ezekiel continued, impassive.

  — This banquet is not a reward. Nor is it permission to forget that you still have much to learn. Consider it a pause. A breath before returning to work properly.

  He crossed his arms. The hall held its breath.

  — That said…

  The silence thickened another notch.

  — You haven’t ruined everything. I recognize effort. A few good reflexes. And even a handful of intelligent initiatives… though not necessarily very prudent ones.

  A murmur went around the room, between relief and disbelief.

  Ezekiel concluded, dry and clear:

  — Enjoy the evening. Eat. Talk. Rest. Tomorrow, you will have no excuse not to give your best. That’s all.

  He returned to his seat without another look.

  A brief suspension followed, as if everyone needed a moment to digest that “almost-compliment.”

  Then Loyd leaned toward the others.

  — I think he just gave a compliment. A real one. I mean… I think.

  — It was one. And coming from him, it was very generous, Ophélia replied.

  Nahira nodded, perfectly serious.

  — He acknowledged effort. It’s always surprising.

  Volden let a small smile show.

  — He’s demanding, but he’s right. A teacher who only flatters keeps students from growing. Ezekiel says exactly what they need to hear, even if it’s never pleasant.

  Ophélia agreed, grave.

  — He never speaks for nothing. Every word has a purpose—even his jabs. If he points out progress, it’s because he truly saw it. And coming from him… it’s more valuable than a speech that’s too gentle.

  Arimélia set a slender hand on the table.

  — I don’t know if I should feel reassured or worried.

  — Both, Elwyn murmured.

  That simple comment made Nahira and Sylaria smile.

  Loyd slumped back a little.

  — A handful of intelligent initiatives… he wasn’t talking about me, was he?

  — Certainly not, Nahira replied without mercy.

  — I knew it, he sighed tragically.

  Le?na tugged gently at her brother’s jacket, worried.

  — Why does he talk like that? It sounds like he’s scolding everyone.

  — He’s not scolding. It’s just his way of encouraging, Elwyn replied.

  Le?na blinked, unconvinced.

  — It doesn’t seem very encouraging…

  Nahira leaned slightly toward her.

  — And yet it is. Much more than you think.

  Le?na watched Ezekiel for a long moment, then whispered:

  — So… he’s kind, but he doesn’t want anyone to know?

  Loyd nearly choked laughing.

  — There. That’s exactly it.

  Elwyn merely inclined his head. In the simplicity of the gesture, Le?na understood he agreed.

  At the front, Ogme turned slightly toward Ezekiel.

  — You were indulgent, the Divinity remarked with amused calm.

  Ezekiel did not move.

  — It was already more than necessary.

  — And yet they listened with remarkable attention.

  — It’s the least they can do when one addresses them.

  Ogme’s smile was almost imperceptible.

  — You care about them a great deal, even if you refuse to say it.

  Ezekiel looked at him like someone categorically refusing to be seen through. Then he averted his gaze.

  — They work. That’s all that matters.

  Ogme said nothing. But an amused glint crossed his eyes: he was not fooled at all.

  When the last words faded, the atmosphere shifted. The tension held during the speeches melted like frost beneath softer light. Conversations resumed—timidly at first, then with more confidence.

  In a corner, the musicians tuned their instruments. Students finally got moving near the buffets. Lids were lifted. Steam rose—thick and fragrant. Bread was set out. The first dishes were carried in.

  A new warmth ran through the hall.

  A warmth of celebration, of sharing.

  The banquet could finally begin.