"What is the meaning of this, Prince Aesril?" Elder Calanye said. Eyes went to Aesril. His robe spoke the true nature of himself: baggy and sagging, uncaring, adorned with the simplest stone the elves could fetch hanging their walls. Yet, kings of generations asked for his guidance. The king before Calathan, and the king before the king asked for his wisdom. But when it comes to Aesril he seemed to soften himself, spoiling him of everything the other elves couldn't have: bloodline magic, knowledge, and wisdom.
Inside his chamber of decaying books, globes of different maps, parcels of human and beast nature alike scattered. This might be the only section of Pin'Tu's chamber with no windows. The only light shining was from a candle on the table. Shadow danced as his breath met the flames. He sat scribing something over his leather parcel while Aesril stood with his hands clasping behind.
