In Prince Cirdan's quarters, the atmosphere was distinctly somber and mysterious. Heavy drapes, dark as midnight, hung from tall windows, their velvet fabric swallowing any trace of natural light that dared to enter. The room was enveloped in an almost oppressive darkness, broken only by flickering candlelight and the occasional glow of a dimly lit sconce.
The furniture, crafted from ancient, weathered wood, loomed like silent sentinels in the dimness. The chairs and tables were beautifully carved with motifs of mythical creatures and arcane symbols, their surfaces worn smooth by time and use. A large, imposing desk dominated one corner of the room, its surface cluttered with stacks of dusty tomes and scrolls bound in cracked leather.
