Markus Martel, with his tousled blond brown locks falling just above his piercing brown eyes, stood in his study affiliated to the castle wing designated for him, awaiting the arrival of the High Chancellor. The room exuded an air of scholarly refinement, adorned with shelves upon shelves of leather-bound tomes that reached toward the high ceilings. The soft glow of lamplight bathed the mahogany desk, strewn with scrolls, quills, and half-finished sketches.
Markus's lean figure leaned against the bookcase and felt not for the first time the room too royalty for him. His thoughts were filled with a blend of curiosity and uncertainty. His inquisitive gaze swept across the room, his fingers absently tracing the spines of the books that held the accumulated knowledge of generations. A hint of restlessness stirred within him, as if a whirlwind of possibilities and secrets whispered just beyond his reach.
