"Settle down, everyone. Please find your seats, class," the woman's voice grew louder, carrying a sharp edge. "I kindly request that you quiet down and take your seats."

Boys and girls, clad in matching army green uniforms, hurriedly made their way to their designated spots. The teacher inwardly sighed, believing that students of any age should display greater discipline.

Miss Rivke, the teacher, addressed the class. Her voice resonated through the small classroom. "Speaking out of turn is not allowed. Passing notes is prohibited. Pay attention. You must seek permission before using the restroom. Maintain silence and listen attentively. If you have a question, raise your hand. Foolish, irrelevant, or disrespectful queries will not be tolerated. These are my rules; do you understand them?"

The children, whether they comprehended or not, nodded collectively, their eyes wide.

"Very well." She adjusted her glasses and smoothed the pleated hem of her skirt. Her tone took on an intensely patronizing quality. "Today, I shall begin educating you about the accurate history of this remarkable region. I encourage you to disregard anything your previous teacher mentioned. His information was false and malicious."

Disregarding the bewilderment evident on the young children's faces, she took a deep breath, rearranged her smile, and continued, "This place, this country, was established many years ago as a sanctuary for the finest members of humanity."

"During that period," she proceeded, "there were numerous people with ill intentions who sought to deprive us of what we possessed." She enunciated each word slowly and loudly as if the children had difficulty hearing. "Your ancestors utilized this place as a refuge from the world's horrors. They put up immense, towering walls to keep the wicked and malicious people at bay."

A child raised a hand, and she briefly assessed him before giving him a nod to speak. "Mr. Barrow told us that there were many, um," the boy glanced upward for a moment, "He said those people died because we didn't help them. He said we could have."

Miss Rivke tilted her head, her smile faltering. In a sympathetic tone, she replied, "Mr. Barrow is a deceitful and criminal person. He intentionally misled you because he is a very bad man."

The boy looked up at her with wide eyes. "No, no," Miss Rivke continued, "we had no alternative but to keep them out. They were wicked and vile people, just like Mr. Barrow."

She surveyed the classroom once again, gauging the children's discomfort and susceptibility before proceeding. "Now, Mr. Barrow made a few other statements that I would like to correct." She maintained the smile on her face, adjusting the butterfly barrette securing her straight blonde hair. "Firstly, contrary to Mr. Barrow's claims," she uttered his name with hints of venom, "this place is a haven."

A young girl raised her hand. Miss Rivke motioned for her to speak. "What does that mean?" she asked, her big blue eyes tinged with confusion.

Miss Rivke approached the girl, crouching down to meet her gaze. "Well, my dear, a haven is a place of joy and contentment." She stood up and addressed the entire class. "Are you all happy here?" The children nodded solemnly. "There is a valid reason for that. Even though we were saved from those dreadful people, our leaders had to take the necessary steps to ensure our prosperity."

A child's hand shot up, and before Miss Rivke could acknowledge it, the boy blurted, "Is that why the Vanguard intervened?"

A slight frown momentarily darkened Miss Rivke's face as the child spoke out of turn, but she quickly brightened. "Yes, you are absolutely correct," she affirmed to the child. "The Vanguard is responsible for the happiness we all share. It is their vision that led to the establishment of the current world we live in."

She gestured, and every child turned their attention towards the window, some stretching their necks to see. "They are the reason why our beautiful blue sky appears as it does," she explained. "They are the reason why we are free."

Miss Rivke maintained her facade of normalcy, occasionally glancing at the children with a stern expression that seemed to say, "Don't cross the line."