We followed the main path toward the museum with the rest of Class A dispersing into their own clusters.
Some groups were laughing, already taking pictures with those crystal–framed scrying devices the Fern kingdom used. Some were yawning, clearly not interested. Some tried to act like aristocrats appreciating culture but were obviously just flexing.
Ariana and I entered side by side.
Fern Royal Museum was coated in marble white stone, but the interior was warm — gold-lit corridors, plant motifs carved into every pillar. The air smelled faintly of flowers. Everything was clean, curated, polished.
I began walking toward the first display.
A large statue sat at the center hall — a man holding a branch like a sword.
