The Grand Library existed as the intellectual heart of the Western University. The institution was divided into four sprawling wings, whose graceful towers soared high into the alpine air and dark basements entrenched within the depths of the mountains. Almost a third of the campus was connected with the library in some way, laced together by an intricate network of tunnels and corridors, lined with gems, precious metals, and luminous runes.
The vast assortment of spells and knowledge surpassed the furthest reach of my imagination, being the sole reason behind the pretentious claims that the city was a holy land for mages. Endless rows of shelves, seamlessly crafted through some long-lost magical technique, displayed student thesis and ancient, elvish grimoires on equal standing, proclaiming the belief that true knowledge was precious, regardless of source. If only this world felt the same about people.
