The long oaken table in the estate's library groaned under the weight of knowledge placed upon it.
Tomes splayed open with spines cracked and weary, scrolls unfurled like serpent tongues, and scattered parchment dusted with ink both fresh and dry were scattered around.
Dust motes danced in the light of the stained-glass windows above, casting kaleidoscopic hues across the cluttered surface. The scent of candlewax, wood polish, and aged books filled the room.
Kai sat across from Naia, one boot resting on the rung of his chair, the other tapping out a rhythm he didn't seem aware of. She was scribbling furiously, eyes narrowed in mock concentration, though the sharp dip of her quill and the repeated loops betrayed the lie. They weren't focused on magical theory anymore. Not really.
They hadn't been for a while.
