The carriage rolled through a cobblestone path lined with trees so perfectly aligned they seemed placed by divine hands.
Their golden leaves shimmered under the sunlight, a sight that seemed almost otherworldly.
Inside the carriage sat a middle-aged man, his sharp eyes scanning the scenery through the polished glass window.
He adjusted his simple gray robes, his fingers brushing over the leather-bound book in his lap—a constant companion that rarely left his side.
Thomas Aquinas was no stranger to grandeur.
As a philosopher, theologian, and saintly figure, he had walked the halls of kings and debated in the courts of the mighty.
Yet, as the white and gold mansion came into view, even he felt a pang of awe. It stood as if it had descended from the heavens themselves, its pristine façade glowing softly under the midday sun.
