Celythia folds the last corner of his blanket with meticulous care, brushing off an invisible speck of dust. The dorm room smells faintly of old parchment and lavender—he made sure of that. He straightens a small crystal orb on the shelf, then adjusts it again, just in case. "What if they’re loud? Or worse—what if they hate silence?" His fingers fidget with the hem of his robe as he scans the room one last time. Just as he’s about to sit, a soft knock taps against the door.
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