Several hours passed.
The room had quieted. The oppressive presence of Oathcarver still lingered, but Ludwig had managed to focus. The books pulled from Van Dijk's trove now lay opened and half-stacked on the old desk he'd commandeered. His eyes, void of fatigue yet somehow still strained, scanned lines of glyphs and runic script. He'd already finished studying three tomes, each offering subtle but potent magic, offensive, defensive, and one to distort and destabilize.
A knock echoed through the door—short, sharp, clipped. A soldier's rhythm. It shook Ludwig from his study like a spear tapping a shield.
He rose, silently stowing the tomes within his Lantern's inventory. "What is it?"
"Something's up at the entrance," Timur's voice called back, tense. He didn't sound panicked—but concern crept through his usual composed cadence.
