Night had draped itself over Greyvale like a heavy blanket soaked in ink, and even the Gryphon District, usually bustling enough to feel eternal, was beginning to settle into a quieter rhythm of distant hooves, closing shutters, and the occasional drunken laugh fading down an alleyway.
Inside the Adventurer Guild, however, the air still held the clean scent of polished marble, fresh ink, and that faintly luxurious aroma of new furniture before it was marred by sweat and spilled drinks.
Sage sat behind the reception counter he was still getting used to calling his own. His posture was relaxed, but his mind raced with thoughts as sharp as a hunting hawk; the calmness of the hall felt superficial compared to his internal whirlwind.
He had spent the last few hours returning to what he always turned to when the world felt too vast, his notes, diagrams, incantation patterns, and the geometry of magic circles.
