The hospital is already in chaos.

From the outside, it had looked modest—an ordinary building with a narrow entrance and a small sign above the doors. Inside, however, the space seems to unfold endlessly. The lobby opens into towering corridors lined with glowing medical signs, glass-fronted wards, and balconies that vanish into the upper levels. The hospital is far larger on the inside than it has any right to be.

You barely have time to take it in before-

Sayaka Tachibana: “GET BACK HERE!”

A terrified griffin bursts around the corner, claws screeching against the polished floor. Its feathers are ruffled, its wings beating in frantic bursts that send a sharp rush of air through the corridor. The scent of antiseptic mingles with warm feathers, metal, and something faintly medicinal as it skids sideways, scrambling for traction.

Behind it runs a woman in a blue medical dress uniform with a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoulder-length brown hair whips across her face as she hurries after the creature, rubber soles squeaking with every step. One hand grips a syringe, its clear barrel flashing beneath the harsh ceiling lights.

Sayaka Tachibana: “Stop running!” she calls. “It’s just a routine injection!”

The griffin lets out an indignant screech and dives beneath a passing cart. Its talons clatter against the floor, and a scatter of loose feathers spins through the air.

“Routine?!” it squawks.

The cart is being pushed by a red-haired man in the same blue uniform. Beneath his open white coat, he wears a vibrant blue button-down shirt with a crisp collar, slightly unbuttoned at the top. The long sleeves are rolled loosely around his forearms, revealing strong, steady hands as he jerks the cart to a halt. Dark charcoal-gray dress trousers fit neatly over his legs, their defined front seams remaining sharp despite the frantic rush. A sleek black leather belt circles his waist, finished with a simple silver buckle.

The wheels squeal, and glass bottles rattle in their holders. A tiny baby dragon lies curled beneath a soft blanket in a padded bassinet atop the cart, completely undisturbed by the shouting and commotion. Its little wings twitch in its sleep, and a faint puff of warm air escapes its nostrils.

Darius Redfeather: “Easy,” the man murmurs, steadying the cart. “Don’t wake the little one.”

The griffin shoots out from beneath the cart and bolts down the corridor again.

Nearby, a brown-haired man in the same uniform carefully guides an elderly ogre toward a padded chair beside the wall. Like his colleague, he wears a vibrant blue button-down shirt beneath his white coat, the collar crisp and slightly open at the throat. His sleeves are rolled loosely to his forearms, and his dark charcoal-gray trousers are fitted with clean seams running down the front. A simple silver buckle gleams against his black leather belt as he keeps one hand ready to support the ogre’s arm.

The ogre’s heavy footsteps thud against the floor, each one making the nearby equipment tremble faintly.

Rowan Bellforge: “Slowly,” the man says. “Be more careful. You don’t want to fall again.”

“I’m fine,” the old ogre grumbles, his breath rumbling deep in his chest, though he leans heavily on the man for support.

Rowan Bellforge: “You said that last time,” the brown-haired man replies. “And then you tried to climb onto a supply shelf.”

The ogre mutters something under his breath as he finally lowers himself into the chair. The padding groans beneath his weight.

Before you can react, a silver-haired woman in the same blue medical uniform comes hurrying around the corner, following after the griffin.

Amara Slivertail: “Sayaka, I will help,” she says calmly, raising her hands to show that she means no harm. “Let’s work together and get him safely treated.”