One thing I always did back in my college days, especially during the finals grind, was cram like my life depended on it. Reviewing lectures, textbooks, obscure footnotes, even that one diagram nobody understood.
Most of my classmates did the same—clutching energy drinks in one hand and coffee in the other, pulling sleepless nights in a noble, caffeine-fueled panic.
I never thought I'd be reliving that phase after getting a job.
Yet here I am—buried under books, sprawled on my apartment sofa, cramming like I have an exam on ancient monster lore tomorrow.
I sighed, flipping through the mountain of research I'd loaned from the Ziggurat archives.
One book stood out.
The War Beasts of Heavens and Hells.
The title alone sounded like it belonged in an epic fantasy saga narrated by an old wizard with glowing eyes. What surprised me was that, out of the entire War Beast series, this one was the thinnest. Suspiciously thin.
I cracked it open—only to find a picture book.
