A pale crescent moon hung over Arcadia like a silent observer, veiled by drifting clouds that moved slowly across the night sky. The towering spires of the world's most renowned academy loomed in the distance—still, silent, and brimming with secrets.
Inside a secluded chamber of a rented manor, the soft rustling of parchment filled the dimly lit room. A single candle burned low on a desk scattered with files, photographs, and mana-inscribed scrolls. Leonard sat with his back straight, robes slightly disheveled, his fingers curled around the silver artifact that hung from his neck—the crescent moon softly pulsing, resonating, whispering that the one he sought was near.
But near was not enough.
He narrowed his golden eyes on the documents laid before him. Portraits of promising students stared back—young faces filled with ambition, arrogance, or quiet determination.
He exhaled slowly.
"Too many variables. Too many shadows," he murmured.
