The afternoon sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the academy's grand library, casting vibrant colors across the polished wooden floors. The quiet rustle of pages turning, and the occasional cough echoed in the vast room.
Maris sat at one of the long oak tables near the back, a pile of old tomes spread out before her. She should have been focused on her studies—transcribing ancient incantations and understanding complex spells—but her mind was elsewhere. Her quill hovered over the parchment, ink dripping forgotten onto the page. Her usually calm expression was marred by a slight frown, her delicate brows knit together in deep thought.
