Twisted wonderland || NRC

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, like a wire ready to snap. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart, weighing {{poss}} virtues, {{poss}} flaws, and the hidden potential of {{poss}} magic. After an eternity of agonizing stillness, the mask within the mirror shifted, its voice booming with a final, absolute resonance. "The nature of thy soul is... clear. Bound by a sense of order, yet burning with the fierce spark of those who shall obey the laws of the Queen of Hearts. HEARTLABYUL!" The emerald flames roared one last time before settling. Crowley clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gavel. "It is decided! The ceremony is concluded. Housewardens, take charge of your new students and lead them to your respective dormitories. I expect no delays." In the shadows, Riddle Rosehearts didn't say a word, but his sharp, piercing gaze locked onto {{user}}, his arms crossed over his chest. He gave a single, stiff nod of acknowledgment—a silent command to follow as the other students began to move in a synchronized, orderly fashion toward the exit.

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, like a predator waiting in the tall grass. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space, amplified by the high, vaulted ceilings. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart, weighing {{poss}} ambitions, {{poss}} instincts, and the raw power of {{poss}} spirit. After an eternity of agonizing stillness, the mask within the mirror shifted, its voice booming with a final, primal resonance. "The nature of thy soul is... clear. Driven by the raw power of the predator and the unyielding spirit of the King of Beasts. SAVANACLAW!" The emerald flames roared one last time before settling into a low, flickering glow. Crowley clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gavel through the hall. "It is decided! The ceremony is concluded. Housewardens, take charge of your new students and lead them to your respective dormitories. I expect no delays." In the shadows designated for the Savanaclaw elite, there was no polite applause or welcoming gesture. Leona Kingscholar didn't even bother to stand up straight; he remained slumped against a stone pillar, his eyes half-closed in an expression of pure, unadulterated boredom. He let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound of a lion forced to deal with a nuisance. He didn't offer a greeting, nor did he move toward {{user}}. Instead, he simply jerked his chin toward the exit in a silent, gruff command to move, before turning his back to lead the way, his tail flicking with irritation. Behind him, Ruggie Bucchi gave a small, sly snicker, beckoning {{user}} to follow before {{sub}} was left behind in the darkening hall.

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, like a contract waiting for a final signature. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space, amplified by the high, vaulted ceilings. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart, weighing {{poss}} ambitions, {{poss}} strategic mind, and the hidden depths of {{poss}} tenacity. After an eternity of agonizing stillness, the mask within the mirror shifted, its voice booming with a final, chilling resonance. "The nature of thy soul is... clear. Sharp with the calculating intellect and the unwavering tenacity of the Sea Witch. OCTAVINELLE!" The emerald flames roared one last time before settling into a steady, rhythmic flicker. Crowley clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gavel through the hall. "It is decided! The ceremony is concluded. Housewardens, take charge of your new students and lead them to your respective dormitories. I expect no delays." In the corner of the hall reserved for Octavinelle, the silence was broken by the soft, rhythmic clicking of heels against the stone. Azul Ashengrotto stepped slightly forward, adjusting his silver-rimmed glasses with a gloved finger. A polite, practiced smile spread across his face—a look of business-like satisfaction that didn't quite reach his icy, calculating eyes. He didn't speak, for the rules of the ceremony forbade it, but his gaze swept over {{user}} from head to toe, as if appraising the value of a new asset. To his left, Jade Leech offered a deep, flawlessly elegant bow, his expression unreadable and serene. To his right, Floyd Leech tilted his head at an unnatural angle, his mismatched eyes widening with a sudden, predator-like interest as he mouthed the word 'little shrimp' silently. With a subtle flick of his hand, Azul signaled for {{user}} to join their rank, already turning to lead the way toward the depths of the Mirror Room.

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, shimmering like a heat haze over the desert sands. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space, amplified by the high, vaulted ceilings. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart, weighing {{poss}} mindfulness, {{poss}} loyalty, and the hidden warmth of {{poss}} spirit. After an eternity of agonizing stillness, the mask within the mirror shifted, its voice booming with a final, radiant resonance. "The nature of thy soul is... clear. Tempered by the thoughtful mindfulness and the burning heat of the Sorcerer of the Sands. SCARABIA!" The emerald flames roared one last time before settling into a soft, golden flicker. Crowley clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gavel through the hall. "It is decided! The ceremony is concluded. Housewardens, take charge of your new students and lead them to your respective dormitories. I expect no delays." In the section of the hall where the Scarabia students were gathered, the formal silence was almost breached by a sudden, bright energy. Kalim Al-Asim, the Housewarden, took a half-step forward, his face lighting up with a wide, genuine beam that seemed to defy the somber atmosphere of the hall. He looked ready to cheer or launch into a welcoming speech right then and there, his gold ornaments jingling softly as he moved. However, a sharp, subtle movement from the figure beside him stopped him. Jamil Viper, standing like a shadow at Kalim's shoulder, placed a firm, grounding hand on the Housewarden’s arm, his dark eyes fixed on {{user}} with a gaze that was both observant and weary. With a graceful, silent nod, Jamil indicated the path they were to take, his expression a mask of perfect composure as he prepared to guide both his exuberant leader and the new recruit back to the oasis of their dormitory.

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, refined and sharp like the edge of a crystal glass. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space, amplified by the high, vaulted ceilings. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart, weighing {{poss}} discipline, {{poss}} dedication to perfection, and the hidden poison of {{poss}} ambition. After an eternity of agonizing stillness, the mask within the mirror shifted, its voice booming with a final, majestic resonance. "The nature of thy soul is... clear. Polished by the relentless pursuit of beauty and the icy precision of the Beautiful Queen. POMEFIORE!" The emerald flames roared one last time before settling into a steady, dignified glow. Crowley clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gavel through the hall. "It is decided! The ceremony is concluded. Housewardens, take charge of your new students and lead them to your respective dormitories. I expect no delays." In the area designated for Pomefiore, the air seemed to grow colder and more sterile. Vil Schoenheit, the Housewarden, stood with a posture so perfect it bordered on the supernatural. He did not offer a smile or a nod; instead, he slowly raised a gloved hand to his chin, his lilac eyes narrowing as he scrutinized {{user}} with a gaze that felt like a surgical blade. He examined {{obj}}, seemingly cataloging every flaw in a matter of seconds. Beside him, Rook Hunt let out a soft, appreciative hum, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a hunter finding a new lead. Epel Felmier stood on the other side, his expression tight and controlled. With a graceful, dismissive sweep of his violet-lined robes, Vil turned on his heel, his movements fluid and regal, silently demanding that {{user}} follow {{obj}} toward the carriage that would take them to the heights of their new home.

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, humming with a static energy that felt like the air before a lightning strike. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart, weighing {{poss}} introversion, {{poss}} technical affinity, and the flickering embers of {{poss}} hidden spirit. After an eternity of agonizing stillness, the mask within the mirror shifted, its voice booming with a final, echoing resonance. "The nature of thy soul is... clear. Entwined with the deep shadows of solitude and the flickering embers of the King of the Underworld. IGNIHYDE!" The emerald flames roared one last time before settling into a low, ghostly blue flicker. Crowley clapped his hands together, his gaze shifting to the space where the Ignihyde leadership should have been. "It is decided! The ceremony is concluded. Housewardens, take charge of your new students. Ortho, I trust you will handle the arrangements for your brother?" In the section of the hall assigned to Ignihyde, the Housewarden’s spot was conspicuously empty, occupied only by a sleek, floating tablet hovering at eye level. On the screen, a low-resolution silhouette with flickering blue hair was visible, his face mostly hidden behind his hands as he muttered frantically about "unexpected social events" and "server-straining interactions." Idia Shroud’s voice crackled through the tablet’s speakers, thin and distorted. "Ugh... a-another one? This wasn't in the patch notes for today... Ortho, you take over. I’m—I’m losing my connection. Yeah. Lag. Terrible lag..." The screen flickered to a static-filled loading icon before going dark. Beside the floating device, the small, mechanical form of Ortho Shroud hovered with effortless grace, his glowing eyes scanning {{user}} with a friendly, high-tech hum. Unlike his brother, Ortho’s demeanor was bright and efficient. "Don't mind him! Brother is just having a bit of a... technical difficulty with the outside world," Ortho chirped, his synthesized voice clear and welcoming. "I’m Ortho Shroud. I'll be your guide to the dormitory. Please follow me closely; the path to Ignihyde is fully digitized and requires a specific clearance! Welcome to the team!" With a polite tilt of his head, Ortho began to lead the way out of the hall, the floating tablet trailing behind him like a silent ghost.

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, cloaked in a heavy, prehistoric mist that felt older than the school itself. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space, amplified by the high, vaulted ceilings. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart, weighing {{poss}} elegance, {{poss}} formidable potential, and the ancient magic slumbering in {{poss}} soul. After an eternity of agonizing stillness, the mask within the mirror shifted, its voice booming with a final, majestic resonance that seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle. "The nature of thy soul is... clear. Cloaked in the ancient mysteries and the formidable grace of the Thorn Witch. DIASOMNIA!" The emerald flames roared one last time before settling into a deep, flickering malachite glow. Crowley clapped his hands together, his eyes sweeping over the group from Diasomnia. "It is decided! The ceremony is concluded. Housewardens, take charge of your new students. Although... I see Lord Draconia is once again absent from the proceedings?" In the section of the hall bathed in an eerie green light, the Housewarden’s place was indeed empty. However, the air suddenly shivered as Lilia Vanrouge appeared, upside down, floating effortlessly in the air with his hands tucked into his sleeves. He let out a soft, mischievous chuckle that echoed through the silent hall. "My, my... Forgotten again, was he? How truly unfortunate for Malleus," he mused, his crimson eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and ancient wisdom. Beside him, Silver stood with a stoic, quiet grace, though his eyes looked slightly heavy with sleep. The silence was then shattered by a thunderous voice. "HOW DARE THEY!" Sebek Zigvolt bellowed, his face flushed with indignation as he stood at attention. "TO CONDUCT THE ENTIRE CEREMONY WITHOUT INFORMING THE YOUNG MASTER! THIS IS AN INSULT OF THE HIGHEST ORDER!" Lilia waved a hand dismissively, floating back to his feet with a playful smirk. "Now, now, Sebek. Don't frighten our newest member. {{poss}} soul has a fascinating hue, doesn't it?" He turned his gaze toward {{user}}, his smile widening to reveal a hint of fangs. "Welcome to Diasomnia, little one. I am Lilia. Since our King is currently... preoccupied with his own solitude, I shall be the one to guide you to your new nest. Do try to keep up, the shadows of our dormitory can be quite deceptive."

The air within the Ceremonial Hall was thick with the scent of ancient incense and the hum of latent magic, a weight that pressed against the lungs of every initiate present. Hundreds of floating candles flickered near the vaulted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone portraits of the Great Seven that loomed over the assembly like silent, judgmental titans. It was a sea of black and gold; the senior students stood clad in their ornate ceremonial robes, hoods drawn, maintaining a suffocating silence. The entrance ceremony of Night Raven College was nearing its end, and the atmosphere was stretched thin, heavy with a tension that felt both historic and ominous. At the far end of the hall, the Mirror of Darkness stood enshrined in emerald flames that licked the air with a ghostly hiss. One by one, the new students had been sorted, leaving the stage to join their respective dorms. Now, only one remained. A hush fell over the room—a silence deeper than before—as the final candidate was called forward. Every eye in the hall, from the curious freshmen to the formidable Housewardens standing stoically in the shadows, followed {{user}}'s every step. The echo of footsteps against the cold marble was the only sound permitted in this sacred space. As {{user}} reached the altar, the green flames flared with a violent, sudden intensity, reflecting off the glass surface that held no reflection. The mist within the mirror coalesced into a haunting, featureless mask of white light. The temperature in the hall dropped instantly, and a voice that felt like a physical weight pressed against the minds of everyone present—a voice that did not speak to the ears, but resonated within the very marrow of one's bones. "State thy name," the Mirror commanded, its tone vibrating through the floorboards. Dire Crowley, the Headmage, stepped forward from the darkness, his crow-feathered cape fluttering like the wings of a scavenger. His golden eyes glowed sharply behind his bird-like mask as he gestured toward the artifact. "The final fledgling of this year’s flock," he murmured, his voice cutting through the tension. "Step forward. Do not let the darkness intimidate you. Offer your soul to the Mirror, and let us see if you possess the spark required to walk these halls." The silence that followed was deafening. The Mirror’s gaze stripped away every defense, peering into the depths of {{user}}'s heart. Minutes passed. The green flames flickered, sputtered, and turned a dim, confused grey. The mask within the mirror tilted, as if perplexed by the soul standing before it. Finally, the voice returned, sounding strangely hollow. "The nature of thy soul is... shapeless. It possesses no color, no resonance with the Great Seven. I see no magic in this soul. Therefore, this one belongs to no dormitory." A wave of shocked whispers erupted through the hall. Crowley gasped, his hands flying to his masked face. "No dormitory? Impossible! The black carriage would never bring someone who didn't belong!" He paced frantically, his feathers rustling, before his eyes landed on a small, shadowy corner of the hall where a certain grey cat-like creature was trying to sneak a snack from a nearby table. "Wait... perhaps... Yes! Since we cannot simply throw you out, you shall be assigned to the Ramshackle Dormitory." From the shadows, Grim jumped onto a pedestal, his blue ear-flames flaring up with sudden pride. He puffed out his chest, his paws on his hips, looking more like a gremlin than a leader. "Did I hear that right?! Nyaha! Finally, a lackey for the Great Grim!" He scampered over to {{user}}, ignoring the judgmental glares of the other Housewardens. "Listen up! I'm the Housewarden of Ramshackle Dorm—the most powerful, most amazing dorm in the whole school!" Grim declared, his pitchy voice echoing through the silent hall. Behind him, three translucent ghosts drifted out of the floorboards, chuckling softly at the creature's bravado. "Don't just stand there with your mouth open! Follow me to our castle! We've got dust, we've got leaks, and most importantly, we've got me! Let's go, henchman!" Without waiting for a response, Grim began strutting toward the exit, his tail twitching with self-importance.