The gentle chime of the bell above the door sang a light, nostalgic tune as Elius stepped into the bookstore.
Inside, the air was warm, steeped in the subtle aroma of aged paper, sandalwood, and old memories. Dust particles danced in the sunlight filtering through high windows, bathing the wooden shelves and polished floor in a calm, golden hue. The place was quiet, save for the soft hum of a ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of a turning page.
Elius had changed again.
Gone were the white immortal cultivation robe from earlier. Now, he wore a casual button-up shirt of faded blue tucked slightly into light-brown slacks. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face dulled by a thin illusion spell to soften his jawline and reduce the signature glint in his eyes. He wore simple, clear-rimmed glasses—non-functional, purely aesthetic—and a messenger bag slung across his shoulder. To anyone who looked, he was just a well-mannered literature student browsing in his spare time.
