In a crowded room, numerous counters stretched out, each occupied by both male and female attendants. Despite the abundance of counters, they all buzzed with activity, resembling a bustling beehive.

The lady seated at one of the counters spoke in a monotonous voice, as if this routine had become mundane. "Name?" she inquired.

In a gentle tone akin to that of a child, Siarl replied, "Naya Naya."

Upon hearing his reply, the lady nodded and swiftly transcribed something onto a sheet of paper before continuing, "Do you possess the entry card?"

From his belongings, Siarl retrieved a crimson card, a token bestowed upon him by Mr. Miz and his companions when they had ushered him here.

The lady's countenance underwent a subtle shift upon sighting the red card. She resumed her writing on the paper and then inquired, "Given that you possess a red card, your dormitory assignment is in building 3. You can either seek directions from the guide stationed outside or request their assistance in reaching your destination." She extended several sheets of paper to Siarl. "Remember to deliver this form to the guardian of your dormitory upon arrival; they will provide you with your room number."

Siarl nodded and embarked on his journey, keenly observing his unfamiliar surroundings. Having spent two days confined in a dusty, antiquated carriage with Mr. Miz and his associates, he now found himself alone with his luggage, a meager assortment of copper coins, and the red card, referred to by Mr. Miz and others as an entry card.

Initially, Siarl had thought he was being taken to a hospital, but it became evident that Miz and his colleagues had different plans for him.

As Siarl surveyed his surroundings, he concluded that he had arrived at some sort of academy, likely within the hostel section. Unfortunately, his inability to read left everything around him shrouded in mystery.

Sighing softly, Siarl murmured to himself, "We shall discern what the future holds. For the present, my focus must be on locating building 3." Bearing the weight of his burdensome bag filled with supplies, he trudged forward.

***

On the windswept balcony of the chateau, a figure stood resolute, its silhouette etched in defiance against the gusts. A rugged visage, adorned in the warmth of fur attire, lent an air of primal strength, while an idle spear rested nearby.

Camsell found himself in a peculiar position, both politically and emotionally. The sudden announcement of the emperor's visit to the North, amidst the ongoing civil unrest, had raised suspicions about the emperor's motives. However, he also felt a sense of joy that one of his dearest friends, Rokay, the current emperor, was coming to visit.

Camsell harbored no illusions that Rokay's visit was a mere nostalgia. In the past, it would have brought him joy, but now, as a family man and a leader bearing the weighty responsibility for his people, he understood that this visit bore profound implications.

In any case, he had to prepare for the emperor's visit; after all, the people of the north were known for their tough demeanour. They couldn't afford to lose face in front of the emperor.

Camsell's smirk revealed his determination. "May this banquet unveil the true beauty of the North," he mused. He was aware of the misconceptions that portrayed the northern people as brutal and uncivilised as the southerners, and he aimed to prove them wrong. The banquet had to exceed Rokay's expectations.

The banquet must be grander than Rokay could imagine. 

***

In a spacious hall, one child desperately fled from another group of children pursuing him.

“Where are you running? You bastard?”  one of the children chasing him shouted, emphasising the word "bastard."

Deuja ran fast, knowing that getting caught would only mean a painful beating. In his mind, he often wondered where this torment was coming from. 

No matter how fleet-footed he proved, his fate was a foregone conclusion. As his pace ebbed, a determined hand clutched at his shirt, wrenching him to the cold floor.

Upon reopening his eyes, Deuja was confronted by his tormentors, three boys forming a menacing circle. On the ground, Deuja assumed a defensive posture, curling into a protective ball to mitigate the impending blows. This only served to widen the malevolent grins on the tormentors' faces as they commenced their assault, raining kicks upon him.

“Stop!”

Amidst the kicks, an authoritative shout resonated from across the hall.  Recognizing the voice as that of the building's guardian, the children abruptly ceased their assault.

"Aw, hell, it's Guardian Khem!" one of the children exclaimed, prompting the rest to scatter.

Deuja, still on the ground, faintly heard the voice and attempted to rise but struggled. Had his tormentors beaten him excessively today?

“Here..” A gentle sound reached Deuja's ears, accompanied by an outstretched hand. Instinctively, he clutched the offered hand, seeking assistance in regaining his footing. Before him stood a child garbed in a loose-fitting, ankle-length linen tunic that afforded comfort and breathability. The child's darkened complexion bore the hallmark of prolonged exposure to the unforgiving sun.

"Ah, it's Deuja again, the eternal punching bag," Khem remarked sarcastically, his eyes holding a disdainful glare.

"Listen up," Khem continued, looking toward Siral. "This beaten-up guy here is the only one with an available room right now, so he'll be your new roommate. Follow him to your room. I've got better things to do than babysit newcomers." With that, Khem departed.

Soon, the hall emptied, leaving only two individuals behind: Deuja and his new roommate, Siral, who would share their future living space.