At the start of autumn, the slightly cold autumn breeze slapped against the stained-glass window, producing a soft rustling sound. Besides that, there were no other noises in the entire Druid examination room. The Druid Sorcerers were all silently staring at the pool of twisted black liquid, deeply questioning life itself.
The youth was dressed in black isolation robes resembling shrouds, his cloak trailing straight to his bare feet, wrapped in wax-soaked canvas. He wore black gloves, not revealing an inch of skin, and paired with that sinister and terrifying bird-beak mask. His blue eyes emitted a cold light in the droop, resembling an envoy of death, looking nothing like someone from the righteous path.
